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THE   LETTERS   OF 

HORACE  HOWARD   FURNESS 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES 

VOLUME   I 


THE   LETTERS   OF 

HORACE  HOWARD 
FURNESS 


EDITED  BY 

H.  H.  F.  J. 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 
VOLUAIE  I 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

1922 


>      •  >    > 


COPYRIGHT,    1922,  BY  HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS  JAYNB 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


CAMBRIDGE   •    MASSACHUSETTS 
PRINTED  IN  THE  U.S.A. 


4.      ».t         it       »^.l.ct^t 


f: 

PREFACE 

The  work  of  editing  these  volumes  was  left  un- 
finished by  Horace  Howard  Furness's  youngest 
son.  Late  in  1913  William  Henry  Furness,  3rd, 
had  begun  to  collect  his  father's  letters,  and,  when 
the  war  prevented  further  progress,  he  had  already 
selected  many  desirable  for  publication.  But  from 
1916  forward  he  gave  unsparingly  his  time  and  skill 
and  energy  to  the  cause  in  the  justness  of  which  he 
had  such  unwavering  faith.  At  first,  volunteering 
his  services  to  the  French  War  Relief  of  Philadel- 
phia, he  went  to  France  as  special  agent  to  facil- 
itate the  distribution  of  supplies  to  the  less  acces- 
sible military  hospitals;  later,  when  this  country 
entered  the  war,  he  received  a  commission  as  cap- 
tain in  the  Medical  Corps,  and  for  two  years  he 
served  in  a  manner  truly  worthy  of  his  father  and 
his  forebears.  Though  peace  brought  with  it  lei- 
sure, his  strength,  of  which  he  had  been  too  lavish 
since  the  summer  in  France,  was  no  longer  equal 
to  the  task,  and  illness  came  and  forbade  the  com- 
pletion of  this  work.  Despite  a  brave  resistance 
through  many  months  of  suffering,  on  August  li, 
1920,  he  died.  And  so  it  came  about  that  the  priv- 
ilege of  editing  the  letters  of  Horace  Howard  Fur- 
ness descended,  in  an  unhappy  and  untimely  way, 
from  a  son  to  a  grandson.     The  younger  hands 


'^mw 


vi  PREFACE 

are  far  less  worthy  of  the  task  than  those  which 
started  it. 

Certain  views  on  editing  collections  of  letters 
which  Dr.  Furness  expressed  have  determined  the 
manner  in  which  his  correspondence  is  here  ar- 
ranged and  presented.  He  was  impatient  of  the 
ofQciousness  of  editors  who  interrupted  the  course 
of  the  letters  with  critical  comment,  and  he  said 
that  "reticence  and  persistent  retreat  into  the  back- 
ground is  the  perfection  of  editorial  duty."  Hence 
explanatory  paragraphs  will  be  found  only  in  the 
earlier  chapters  where  it  was  necessary  to  bridge 
the  gaps  in  the  letters.  Elsewhere  editorial  infor- 
mation is  compressed  to  the  smallest  measure,  or 
completely  omitted  in  the  belief  that  any  reader, 
if  he  cares  to  trouble  himself,  can  reach  an  expla- 
nation as  lucid  and  as  satisfactory  as  any  a  meagre 
footnote  could  supply. 

Again,  in  the  Introduction  to  "Records  of  a 
Lifelong  Friendship"  he  said:  "Lack  of  punctu- 
ation or  of  question  marks,  abbreviations  or  even 
mis-spellings,  it  is,  I  think,  no  part  of  an  editor 
to  correct.  They  are  evidences  of  haste  or  of  char- 
acter, or  of  familiarity,  and,  as  such,  should  be  pre- 
served." This  opinion  has  been  followed  as  closely 
as  possible  in  these  volumes. 

1  would  that  my  uncle  were  here  to  thank  for 
himself  all  those  who  aided  him  in  this  work.  Above 
all  he  would  have  wished  to  express  his  gratitude 


PREFACE  vli 

to  Mrs.  Morris  Jastrow  and  Mr.  Owen  WIster  for 
their  assistance  and  advice  in  selecting  from  the 
great  number  of  letters  originally  gathered.  My 
poor  thanks,  Inadequate  for  my  own  debts  to  them, 
must,  most  unfortunately,  suffice,  as  well  as  my 
sincere  acknowledgments  to  each  and  every  one 
who  sent  the  letters  written  by  my  grandfather. 
Almost  every  page  bears  witness  to  the  extent  to 
which  the  contents  of  this  work  depended  on  their 
kindly  Interest. 

I  wish  to  thank  also  the  J.  B.  LIppIncott  Com- 
pany for  permission  to  Include  the  extracts  from  the 
"Preliminary  Report  of  the  Seybert  Commission." 

Finally,  I  cannot  close  without  saying  how  very 
much  I  owe  to  Horace  Howard  Furness,  Jr.,  under 
whose  hand  the  Variorum  continues  to  advance 
so  excellently,  adding  to  the  dignity  of  the  name  he 
bears.  His  constant  counsel,  wisdom,  and  kindness 
have  been  Inestimable  aids  to  one  who  will  be  ever 
proud  to  call  him  uncle. 

Horace  Howard  Furness  Jayne 

"  LiNDENSHADE  " 

March,  1922 


CONTENTS 

Introduction  xili 

I.  Years  at  Harvard:  1851-1854  i 

II.  Years  of  Travel:  1854-1856  36 

III.  The  Sanitary  Commission:  1856-1866  102 

IV.   1867-1885  159 

V.  The  Seybert  Commission:  1883-1887  198 

VI.   1884-1892  222 

VII.  1893-1898  281 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Horace  Howard  Furness  in  1855 

Photogravure  Frontispiece 

From  a  portrait  painted  in  Munich   by  his   brother, 
William  Henry  Furness,  Jr. 

Helen  Kate  Furness  196 

Photograph  by  Gutekunst,  Philadelphia 

Lindenshade  224 

Photograph  by  J.  E.  Green,  Chester,  Pa. 

Facsimile  of  Letter  of  H.  H.  Furness  to 

W.  Alois  Wright  288 


INTRODUCTION 

Horace  Howard  Furness  lived  almost  four- 
score years,  yet  might  he  well  have  exclaimed,  as 
did  Charles  Lamb,  "Deduct  out  of  them  the  hours 
I  have  lived  to  other  people  and  not  to  myself  and 
you  will  find  me  still  a  young  fellow."  For  he  de- 
voted a  vast  part  of  his  life  to  Shakespeare  and  the 
rest  to  his  fellows  and  to  his  friends,  so  till  the  very 
end  he  preserved  an  imperishable  spirit  of  youth- 
fulness  which  added  to  his  scholarship  and  fulfilled 
his  exquisite  personality.  Gentle,  tolerant,  char- 
itable, his  fifty  years  spent  upon  the  Variorum 
Edition  will  long  stand  as  the  highest  attainment 
in  American  letters;  no  taint  of  any  literary  quarrel 
sullies  the  grandeur  of  his  labour,  no  ostentatious 
vanity  detracts  from  its  dignity.  He  belonged  to  an 
age  that  is  vanished  —  "an  age  more  favourable  to 
vigour  of  intellect  than  the  present  in  which  a  dread 
of  being  thought  pedantic  dispirits  and  flattens  the 
energies  of  original  minds."  In  the  midst  of  the 
world-wide  lament  that  followed  his  death  in  1912, 
there  was  heard  the  deep  undertone  of  sorrow  for 
the  loss  of  that  breed  of  scholars  of  which  he  was 
the  last,  the  perfect  type;  scholars  who  were  una- 
fraid to  spend  a  lifetime  in  unremitting  labour  upon 
a  single  inexhaustible  subject,  who  were  willing  to 
forego  personal  gain  in  the  greater  cause  of  litera- 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

ture,  and  lastly,  scholars  who  venerated  their  work 
as  the  artists  of  old  venerated  the  Muses. 

The  fountain-head  of  Horace  Howard  Furness's 
genius  was  a  true  and  perfect  sympathy  with  the 
hearts  of  all  mankind.  Picture  him  upon  an  even- 
ing when  he  read  "Antony  and  Cleopatra"  to  a 
gathering  of  friends  in  Cambridge  —  a  deaf  old 
man,  beautiful  of  countenance,  immaculate  in 
trim,  old-fashioned  clothes,  with  snow-white  hair 
and  a  wondrous  silvery  voice  —  and  then  read 
these  words  in  which  he  spoke  of  the  evening: 
"What  a  tribute  to  the  power  of  the  imagination 
under  the  hand  of  Shakespeare  that  the  fascinating 
Egyptian  Queen  should  be  presented  not  only  by 
a  white-haired  man,  but  a  man  more  than  ordi- 
narily dull  and  plain  of  feature,  and  that  when  he 
applies  to  his  shirt-front  an  imaginary  asp  and 
says,  'Dost  thou  not  see  my  baby  at  my  breast 
that  sucks  the  nurse  asleep?'  the  hearers'  eyes 
should  fill  with  emotion.  .  .  .  Charles  Norton  said, 
*My  dear  Furness,  you  make  us  cry.'"  These,  his 
own  unaffected  words,  unconsciously  sound  the 
keynote  of  his  character.  Yes,  he  could  bring  tears 
to  the  eyes  or  laughter  to  the  lips,  and  such  power 
is  given  only  to  those  who  possess  an  all-encircling 
sympathy.  When  he  read  Shakespeare  —  when 
the  myriad  tones  of  his  voice  made  Rosalind  or 
Beatrice  live  again  and  love,  made  Autolycus  sing 
with  heart-easing  Elizabethan  charm,  or  made 
Macbeth  shudder  before  the  ghost  of  Banquo  — 
then  perhaps  was  this  sympathy  most  evident. 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

Yet  it  lay  behind  his  every  action,  behind  his 
spoken  and  his  written  words;  It  found  expression 
in  his  love  of  flowers  and  trees  and  birds  and  ani- 
mals, in  his  countless  kindnesses  to  people  of  every 
sort  and  every  station,  in  his  full  and  ready  under- 
standing of  the  host  of  Shakespearean  commenta- 
tors of  every  age  and  every  nationality;  and  finally 
it  endowed  him  with  that  rare  insight  Into  the 
meaning  of  Shakespeare's  words  which  often  made 
it  seem  as  if  his  nature  was  in  tune  with  Shake- 
speare's very  heart.  Truly,  even  as  this  sympathy 
was  the  essence  of  his  personality,  it  was  also  the 
mark  of  his  genius.  And  none  who  knew  him,  none 
who  have  looked  into  the  Variorum,  can  doubt 
that  he  had  genius,  not  of  the  spectacular  sort 
which  lights  the  heavens  with  a  single  flare,  con- 
sumes Itself,  and  dies,  but  such  that  simmers  gently 
and  quietly  through  a  long,  long  life,  ever  consum- 
ing dross,  ever  maintaining  a  constant  flow  of 
pure  and  refined  metal. 

The  span  of  his  life  was  Indeed  great;  measured 
not  so  much  by  the  number  of  his  years  as  rather 
by  the  events  with  which  these  years  were  crowded 
—  by  the  wide  panorama  which  his  eyes  had 
looked  upon.  And  In  its  length  the  gods  were  not 
always  kind.  Locked  in  his  heart  for  thirty  years 
was  sorrow,  deep  and  abiding  sorrow,  cloaked  from 
his  nearest  and  his  dearest  friends  by  his  indom- 
itable optimism;  and  towards  his  gentle  end  (too 
peaceful  It  was  to  call  It  by  the  harsh  name  of 
Death)  even  deeper  shadows  came,  and  Grief,  the 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

sombre  heritage  of  age,  stood  every  hour  by  his 
side;  yet  still  he  turned  to  the  world  that  same 
gallant  front  which  dignified  his  entire  life.  To  us 
of  a  later  generation  his  early  years  seem  rooted  in 
history;  he  was  born  while  Andrew  Jackson  was 
President  and  before  Victoria  had  come  to  the 
English  throne.  He  saw  the  troops  march  off  for 
the  war  with  Mexico;  he  saw  the  first  sparks  of  the 
Rebellion  kindled,  strove  with  his  brothers  through 
its  bitter  years,  and  lived  on  for  half  a  century  and 
saw  even  the  ashes  of  its  prejudices  scattered,  for- 
gotten. He  began  his  work  upon  the  Variorum 
when  such  critics  as  Dyce  and  Harness,  Knight 
and  Collier,  Halliwell  and  Staunton,  were  alive  and 
eager  in  their  study  of  the  plays;  he  lived  to  see 
them  drop  off"  one  by  one,  to  find  himself  at  length 
the  sole  survivor  of  the  great  Shakespearean 
scholars  of  the  past. 

In  1825,  eight  years  before  Horace  was  born,  his 
father,  William  Henry  Furness,  had  come  to  Phila- 
delphia from  Boston  to  assume  the  pastorate  of  the 
First  Unitarian  Church  in  Philadelphia.  The  Fur- 
ness family  were  of  good  New  England  stock;  Wil- 
liam Henry  had  been  born  and  bred  in  Boston,  grad- 
uated from  Harvard  College  and  the  Divinity 
School,  and  married,  in  the  same  year  in  which  he 
came  to  Philadelphia,  to  Miss  Annis  Pulling  Jenks, 
of  Salem.  The  young  couple  found  instant  and  cor- 
dial welcome  in  the  city  of  their  adoption;  they 
brought  with  them  all  that  was  best  of  Puritan 
respect  for  truth  and  for  right  without  its  austerity, 


INTRODUCTION  ,  xvii 

all  that  was  most  admirable  of  staunch  New  Eng- 
land love  of  learning  and  refinement.  William 
Henry  Furness  was  a  preacher  of  exceeding  prom- 
ise which  every  year  eloquently  fulfilled.  A  truth- 
ful exposition  of  Christianity  was  his  undeviating 
purpose  during  his  pastorate  of  fifty  years;  he  kept 
aloof  from  all  petty  and  unfortunate  doctrinal  dis- 
cussions which  involved  many  of  the  Unitarians  of 
his  early  days.  This  rare  conception  of  a  minister's 
duty  combined  with  his  personal  charm  —  in  the 
words  of  Emerson  he  had  "  a  face  like  a  benedic- 
tion, and  a  speech  like  a  benefaction"  —  led  his 
small  congregation  upon  a  prosperous  course.  He 
was  also  a  writer  of  talent  with  a  finished,  lucid 
style;  his  hymns  and  his  studies  of  the  life  of  Jesus 
are  still  well  known.  His  wife  proved  no  less  popu- 
lar in  Philadelphia:  beautiful,  reserved,  cultured, 
with  a  pleasant  sense  of  humour,  she  quickly  won  a 
wide  circle  of  friends.  Their  house  became  a  gath- 
ering-place for  the  learned  and  the  witty;  men  and 
women  in  public  life  visited  them,  strangers  from 
other  cities  and  foreign  countries  were  brought  to 
meet  them.  Though  never  affluent,  their  circum- 
stances were  comfortable,  and  they  knew  how  to 
enjoy  their  modest  means  to  the  fullest  measure. 
In  their  four  children  they  were  greatly  blest;  both 
parents  lived  "to  set  their  rest  in  their  kind  nurs- 
ery" —  lived  to  see  all  four  children  loved,  hon- 
oured, and  admired. 

Horace  Howard  Furness  was  born  November 
2,  1833.    He  had  an  elder  brother  and  an  elder 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

sister.  William  Henry  Furness,  Jr.,  was  six  years 
his  senior;  an  artist  of  great  talent,  whose  death 
in  1867  was  tragically  untimely,  but  before  he 
died  he  had  already  an  established  reputation  as 
one  of  the  most  skilful,  one  of  the  most  finished 
portrait-painters  of  his  day.  Horace's  only  sister, 
Annis  Lee  Furness,  was  born  in  1830.  With  only  a 
scant  difference  in  their  ages,  these  two  preserved 
the  closest  bonds  of  affection  from  their  earliest 
days;  their  predilections  were  ever  similar,  their 
natures  were  cast  in  the  same  admirable  mold. 
Annis  Lee  Wister  —  in  1854  she  married  Dr.  Cas- 
par Wister,  of  Philadelphia  —  was  not  only  widely 
known  for  her  many  English  adaptations  of  Ger- 
man novels,  but  was  famous  everywhere  for  her 
appreciation  of  all  the  arts,  for  her  gift  of  language, 
for  her  magically  beautiful  voice,  for  her  own  dis- 
tinctive charm.  It  was  peculiarly  fitting  that 
Horace  Howard  Furness  should  have  had  such  a 
lovely  lady  for  his  sister.  Frank  Furness,  the 
youngest  child,  was  born  in  1837.  During  the  Civil 
War  he  served  gallantly  as  a  captain  of  cavalry; 
upon  him  was  bestowed  that  signal  distinction,  the 
Congressional  Medal  of  Honour,  for  "Conspicuous 
bravery  under  Fire."  He  later  became  one  of  Phila- 
delphia's most  distinguished  architects. 

These  were  the  characters  that  peopled  Horace 
Howard  Furness's  early  stage.  About  his  youth 
there  was  nothing  strongly  distinctive,  no  trait  to 
which  we  can  point  and  say  "  there  was  the  starting- 
point  of  all  his  future  fame."  As  a  boy  he  had  red 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

hair  and  a  vivid  imagination.  In  later  years  he 
told  how  once,  when  he  was  very  young  and  still 
at  a  Dame's  school,  he  astonished  his  fellow  stu- 
dents by  telling  them  that  in  the  garret  of  his 
father's  house  he  had  a  remarkable  blue  dog,  an 
intensely  blue  dog.  With  no  thought  of  guile  (he 
was  convinced  himself  of  the  animal's  mundane 
existence)  he  whetted  their  appetites  with  daily 
accounts  of  the  dog's  health  and  activities,  till  the 
edge  of  youthful  curiosity  could  bear  the  strain  no 
longer,  and  an  exhibition  of  the  dog  was  insisted 
upon.  After  school  he  led  them  home  with  him  and 
left  the  expectant  group  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
while  he  ascended  to  discover  if  the  dog  were 
amenable  to  a  visit.  Ah,  the  indescribable,  sudden, 
sickening  realization  that  there  was  no  remarkable 
blue  dog,  that  it  had  never  been  anything  but  a 
phantom  of  his  brain!  The  words  with  which  he 
related  his  feelings  of  the  moment  were  inimitable. 
In  the  full  tide  of  his  horror  and  chagrin  at  being 
self-deceived,  he  gave  a  few  feeble  imitative  yelps 
and  returned  to  his  companions  with  the  dishearten- 
ing news  that  the  animal  was  far  too  vicious  to 
receive  guests.  The  group  filed  slowly  down  the 
staircase,  followed  by  the  chastened  Horace  who 
planned  an  early  but  painless  demise  for  his  mythi- 
cal blue  pet.  Those  who  are  pleased  to  see  pro- 
phetic glints  in  details  of  the  past  would  delight  in 
a  little  newspaper  issued  during  1846  which  bore 
the  imprint  "H.  H.  Furness,  Editor,  Proprietor, 
Printer,  Publisher,  and  Carrier."    This  was  un- 


XX  INTRODUCTION 

doubtedly  Horace  Howard  Furness's  first  step  on 
the  editorial  path  —  a  minute,  four-page  weekly, 
entitled  the  *' Tom-Tit"  —  and  the  work  of  type- 
setting and  printing  as  well  as  editing  was  entirely 
his  own.  "We  mean  to  dedicate  it  to  /wn,  to 
which  no  one  can  object,"  so  runs  the  first  editori- 
al. "We  mean  to  hurrah  for  Clay,  and  shout  for 
Polk;  to  denounce  the  War,  and  stick  up  for  the 
volunteers.  We  think,  we  know  the  present  age  is 
greatly  in  need  of  Fun,  that  best  of  all  sciences." 
Thus  we  may  think  of  his  boyhood,  dedicated  to 
fun,  as  every  boy's  should  be,  studying  at  home 
and  at  school,  filled  with  all  the  pleasant,  absorb- 
ing trivialities  of  youth.  He  must  have  heard  much 
interesting  talk  at  his  parents'  house,  much  that 
moulded  his  early  opinions  and  laid  the  founda- 
tions for  his  far-reaching  knowledge.  Here  Emer- 
son was  a  frequent  visitor,  with  his  enlightening 
conversation  on  every  topic;  thither  came  Chan- 
ning  and  William  Lloyd  Garrison  filled  with  Aboli- 
tion talk. 

And  there  was  Fanny  Kemble.  She  who  moth- 
ered Horace  Howard  Furness's  love  of  Shake- 
speare, who  first  threw  wide  for  him  the  magic  case- 
ment on  the  fairyland  of  the  plays.  It  would  be 
hard,  it  would  be  well-nigh  impossible  to  magnify 
the  harvest  which  he  reaped  from  listening  to  her 
Shakespearean  readings.  Even  as  Mrs.  Kemble 
herself  loved  the  elder  Furness  (she  was  his  parish- 
ioner for  many  years,  and  was  wont  to  call  him 
"her   dear   and   venerated   spiritual   pastor   and 


INTRODUCTION  xxi 

master"),  so  did  his  son  love  and  venerate  her. 
When  Horace  Furness  was  but  fifteen,  she  began 
her  public  readings.  This  was  in  1849.  In  later 
years  he  was  proud  to  say  that  he  believed  he  had 
not  missed  a  single  one.  Combined  with  a  rich  and 
wonderful  voice,  wherein  she  had  all  the  depths 
and  tones  so  essential  to  render  Shakespeare's 
meaning  to  the  full,  were  all  the  dramatic  instincts 
of  a  great  actress,  all  the  best  traditions  of  the  Eng- 
lish stage.  She  read,  moreover,  with  an  extensive 
knowledge  of  the  meaning  of  the  text,  an  impor- 
tant attribute  which  gave  her  readings  great  lit- 
erary and  aesthetic  value.  In  the  happy  combin- 
ation of  these  charms  lay  the  secret  of  her  fame 
and  popularity  as  a  Shakespearean  reader  and  of 
her  inspiring  sway  over  young  Furness.  Yet  in 
him  she  had  plastic  clay  to  mould:  if  he  responded 
to  her  inspiration,  it  was  because  his  nature  was 
more  than  ordinarily  sympathetic  to  the  appeal  of 
the  poet  and  dramatist;  if  he,  too,  in  later  years 
followed  in  her  footsteps  and  read  Shakespeare  in 
public  with  an  equal  art,  with  an  almost  surpassing 
grace,  it  was  because  he  inherited  the  rich  and 
mellow  voice  that  was  his  father's  and  because  he 
had  been  bred  in  a  kindly  atmosphere  of  refine- 
ment. The  effect  of  her  readings  upon  him  was 
to  awaken  and,  when  awakened,  to  intensify  his 
appreciation  and  love  for  Shakespeare.  It  was  not 
until  fifteen  years  later  that  he  started  his  first 
work  upon  the  New  Variorum  under  the  auspices 
and  with  the  encouragement  of  the  "Shakspere 


xxil  INTRODUCTION 

Society  of  Philadelphia,"  whereof  he  was  the 
youngest  member.  Then  it  was  Mrs.  Kemble's 
turn  to  admire  the  breadth  and  depth  of  knowledge, 
the  meticulous  labour,  and  the  high  standard  of 
scholarship  which  the  first  volume,  "Romeo  and 
Juliet,"  revealed.  And  she  paid  her  tribute  in  the 
fullest  possible  measure.  In  her  "  Further  Records" 
she  says:  "I  was  so  much  pleased  with  the  en- 
thusiastic devotion  to  his  laborious  task  of  his 
Variorum  Shakespeare  that  I  gave  him  the  pair 
of  Shakespeare's  gloves  Cecilia  Combe  left  me 
in  her  will,  and  which  had  come  to  her  mother, 
Mrs.  Siddons,  from  Mrs.  Garrick."  The  gift  of 
these  priceless,  priceless  treasures  was  the  earli- 
est, as  it  was  the  greatest,  personal  tribute  to 
the  work  of  Horace  Howard  Furness;  and  how 
wondrously  well  he  proved  himself  worthy  of  the 
possession! 

Even  while  young  Furness  was  busy  with  his 
fonts  of  type  and  editing  the  "Tom-Tit,"  while 
he  was  going  to  Fanny  Kemble's  readings,  while  he 
was  preparing  himself  to  enter  Harvard,  there  was 
one  subject  ever  present  in  his  mind,  one  word 
which  was  ever  ringing  in  his  ears  —  Abolition. 
Were  we  to  omit  this  solemn  cloud  from  any  picture 
of  his  youth,  the  picture  were  but  half-painted; 
it  darkened  the  best  years  of  his  father's  life,  it 
dulled  the  brightness  of  his  own  boyhood.  He 
could  scarcely  remember  the  days  when  it  was  not 
the  chief  topic  in  his  parents'  house.  As  early  as 
1836  the  elder  Furness  preached  his  first  Abolition 


INTRODUCTION  xxiil 

sermon,  and  it  was  but  a  few  years  later  that  he 
became  identified,  heart  and  soul,  with  the  Aboli- 
tionists. It  was  small  wonder  that  Horace  Furness 
assimilated  to  the  full  the  spirit  of  the  times,  this 
dynamic  movement  that  shook  the  Nation  to 
the  foundations  and  culminated  in  the  Civil  War. 
As  a  boy  his  daily  life  was  shot  with  incidents 
that  revealed  the  most  shocking  aspects  of  slav- 
ery and  unpleasant  events  that  tested  the  courage 
of  the  Abolitionists  to  the  utmost.  For  his  father 
did  not  confine  himself  to  preaching  vigorous  ser- 
mons for  the  cause  he  so  passionately  espoused: 
his  house  on  Pine  Street  was  a  haven  for  fugitive 
slaves.  Here  Horace  witnessed  the  opening  of 
boxes  containing  unfortunate  negroes  who  had 
been  shipped  from  the  South  on  their  way  to  free- 
dom. Walking  upon  the  streets  of  Philadelphia 
with  his  father,  he  would  watch  former  friends 
pass  with  angry  looks  or  averted  gaze,  hear  threats 
thrown  after  them,  threats  of  persecution  and  even 
death,  from  former  parishioners  or  wrathful  slave- 
owners. In  those  early  days  only  a  courageous  man 
dared  tread  the  path  of  the  Abolitionists,  but  Wil- 
liam Henry  Furness  did  not  lack  the  necessary 
courage  by  a  jot;  all  his  eloquence,  all  his  time,  all 
his  sympathy  were  given  unreservedly  for  the 
cause,  even  though  he  suffered  mental  anguish  as 
he  saw  the  trouble  and  the  pain  his  course  of  action 
brought  upon  his  family.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  these  years,  lived  in  the  gathering  shadow, 
left  their  stamp  upon  Horace  Howard  Furness's 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION 

later  life,  and  in  a  measure  his  close  view  of  the 
national  trouble,  his  youthful  association  with 
men  and  women  who  were  filled  with  a  great  desire, 
brought  him  to  maturity  earlier  than  if  he  had 
passed  his  boyhood  amid  only  tranquil  scenes. 
When  he  entered  Harvard  in  1850,  his  outlook 
upon  life  was  riper  than  that  of  a  boy  of  sixteen. 
Not  only  did  he  go  to  Cambridge  self-prepared  in 
all  subjects  save  mathematics,  but  also  (further 
proof  of  his  self-reliance,  as  well  as  his  Industry) 
while  at  Harvard  he  employed  many  of  his  spare 
hours  tutoring  less  proficient  students,  and  by  this 
means  relieved  his  father  of  a  great  part  of  the 
financial  burden  of  his  college  course.  To  this  end, 
also,  he  taught  school  in  New  York  during  the  last 
term  of  his  Freshman  year,  a  privilege  accorded  to 
meritorious  students  who  sought  to  support  them- 
selves at  the  University. 

In  i860  he  married  Helen  Kate  Rogers.  Hap- 
piness, such  as  graced  the  marriage  of  these  two, 
is  vouchsafed  to  few  on  earth;  companions  were 
they  in  every  deed  of  every  day.  To  Literature  she 
contributed  "The  Concordance  to  Shakespeare's 
Poems,"  to  his  work  unending  advice  and  encour- 
agement. And  when,  after  but  twenty-three  years 
of  married  life,  Death  stepped  between  them,  her 
presence  like  a  benediction  was  beside  him  and, 
though  imperishable  grief  was  ever  present,  yet  the 
memories  of  the  past  enabled  him  to  face  with 
courage  a  life  of  loneliness  for  twenty-nine  years. 
They  had  four  children:  Walter  Rogers  Furness, 


INTRODUCTION  xxv 

bom  in  1861,  later  an  architect;  Horace  Howard 
Furness,  Jr.,  born  in  1865,  who  chose  to  follow  in 
his  father's  footsteps  as  an  editor  of  the  Vario- 
rum and  of  whose  work  the  elder  editor  has  said, 
"Surely,  the  instances  are  not  many  where  a  liter- 
ary task  begun  by  a  father  is  taken  up  and  carried 
forward  by  a  son;  still  fewer  are  they  where  the 
father  can  retire  within  the  shadow  with  such  con- 
viction as  is  now  mine,  that  the  younger  hands  are 
the  better  hands."  The  youngest  son,  William 
Henry  Furness,  3rd,  was  born  in  1866,  explorer  and 
ethnologist,  author  of  two  books,  "The  Home  Life 
of  the  Borneo  Headhunters"  and  "The  Island  of 
Stone  Money";  and  an  only  daughter,  born  in 
1873,  Caroline  Augusta  Furness,  who  married  Dr. 
Horace  Jayne,  and  in  whom  the  father  saw  each 
year  expand  all  the  charm  and  talent,  all  the 
beauty  and  grace  of  her  mother,  till  he  was  for  a 
second  time  struck  to  the  heart  by  her  early  death 
in  1909. 

The  letters  that  follow,  beginning  as  they  do 
with  Furness's  years  at  Harvard,  preserve  sufficient 
continuity  to  mark  the  events  of  his  crowded  life. 
But  they  are  far  more  than  mere  milestones  along 
the  road;  they  reveal  the  expansion  of  his  mind, 
the  subtleties  of  his  nature,  the  ineffable  comeli- 
ness of  his  scholarly  life,  his  rare  good-humour, 
and  his  kindly  sympathy.  He  devoted  much  time 
to  his  correspondence,  especially  in  his  later  years, 
and  he  always  looked  upon  letter-writing  as  an  art. 
He  infused  the  merest  note  of  acknowledgment 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION 

with  a  twinkle  of  wit  or  a  beguiling  touch  of  his 
personality.     His    longer    letters,    written   in  his 
flawless,  charming  English  and  in  his  smooth,  dis- 
tinguished hand,  are  veritable  mines  for  sparkling 
gems    of   observation    and    reflection;    and    they 
chronicle  a  vast  array  of  deeds  which  made  his 
life  so  full,  so  admirable.    He  was  fond  of  saying, 
"one  touch  of  Shakespeare  makes  the  whole  world 
kin,"  and  if  ever  any  one  bore  out  the  spirit  of  this 
phrase,  it  was  he.   There  are  a  legion  of  men  and 
women,  who  never  reckoned  with  his  scholarship, 
who,   perhaps,  never  knew  his  name,  but  whose 
lives  have  been  made  the  happier  by  his  broad- 
hearted  smile   as  they  passed  his  vigourous,  old- 
fashioned  figure  on  the  streets.   His  very  presence 
seemed  to  breath  an  air  of  friendliness.   Never  did 
he  allow  his  deafness  —  that  sorry  affliction  which 
kept  him  from  active  service  in  the  army  during 
the   Civil    War,   which   smothered   his   desires   to 
practice  law,  which  deprived  him  of  the  sound  of 
music  and  the  keen  pleasures  of  the  theatre  — 
never  did  he  permit  it  or  his  long  hours  spent  col- 
lating dusty  texts  to  cut  him  off  from  his  fellows. 
The  services  he  gave  so  freely,  the  hours  he  spent 
so  zealously  working  on  the  committees  of  libra- 
ries and  hospitals  and  upon  the  Board  of  Trustees 
of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania,  were  of  ines- 
timable benefit  to  his  city.    His  association  with 
gentle  and  learned  men  in  such  clubs  as  the  "Trip- 
lets," the   "Franklin  Inn,"  and    the  "Shakspere 
Society"    endeared   him,   the  gentlest   and   most 


INTRODUCTION  xxvii 

learned,  to  every  member  who  came  in  touch  with 
him.  Never  were  his  ears  deaf  to  the  appeals  of 
charity;  hundreds  of  times  he  read  Shakespeare  in 
pubHc,  deHghting  in  the  knowledge  that  all  who 
came  so  eagerly  to  hear  him  read  were,  through 
him,  bestowing  their  money  on  some  worthy  cause. 
"I  do  not  think  I  am  vainglorious  when  I  say  that 
I  fervently  thank  heaven  that  it  lies  in  my  power 
to  do  this  much  for  charity."  In  addition  to  the 
sixteen  stout  volumes  of  the  Variorum,  he  pro- 
duced a  store  of  other  works,  widely  divers?  in 
subject,  but  bearing,  none  the  less,  the  marks  of 
his  particular  skill  —  the  polished  translation  of 
the  Psalms  in  the  Polychrome  Bible,  an  author- 
itative article  on  homoeopathy  in  the  American 
edition  of  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  a  volume 
containing  the  lifelong  correspondence  between 
his  father  and  Emerson,  and  a  score  of  iridescent 
speeches  and  addresses.  To  have  crowded  all 
these  activities  into  a  single  lifetime,  albeit  long, 
seems  to  us  of  a  less  potent  age  almost  miraculous. 
His  capacity  for  work  was,  however,  prodigious: 
every  hour  of  his  long  day  (he  seldom  went  to  bed 
before  two  o'clock,  often  it  was  three  or  four  when 
he  turned  down  the  lights)  was  completely  filled, 
yet  he  was  never  hurried.  He  found  ample  time  to 
devote  to  his  beloved  garden,  to  the  homely  and 
engrossing  affairs  of  his  farm  at  Wallingford,  to  his 
countless  friends  the  world  over,  and,  above  all,  to 
his  family  —  children,  grandchildren,  and  great- 
grandchildren —  whose   daily   interests   he   abun- 


xxviii  INTRODUCTION 

dantly  shared  in,  whose  lives  he  watched  grow 
and  flourish  with  such  a  glad  heart. 

All  these  facets  of  his  nature  Horace  Howard 
Furness  revealed  in  his  letters.  And  yet,  for  all 
their  fulness,  for  all  their  brilliance,  they  cannot 
give  the  perfect  picture  of  his  life.  For  he  was  the 
most  modest  of  great  men.  Not  only  was  there 
scant  room  in  his  make-up  where  self-appreciation 
might  be  lodged,  but  that  same  feeling  which  made 
him  "dismiss  with  frigid  tranquillity"  each  vol- 
ume of  the  Variorum  as  it  fell  from  the  press, 
made  any  mention  of  his  achievements  repellent  to 
him.  For  his  family,  for  his  friends,  for  his  city  and 
its  institutions,  his  pride  was  illimitable,  but  for 
himself  it  did  not  exist.  He  loathed  notoriety.  He 
never  even  sought  Fame;  when  she  came  to  him 
from  every  part  of  this  country,  from  England  and 
from  Germany,  bearing  splendid  recognition  of 
his  scholarship,  he  met  her  in  his  kindly  fashion, 
received  her  gifts  with  a  full  heart,  but  reverently 
laid  the  wreaths  aside.  Although  the  spirit  of  this 
modesty  pervades  his  letters,  veiling  to  a  large 
degree  his  attainments,  it  is  materialized  in  his 
work  upon  the  Variorum.  Search  as  you  may  for 
Horace  Howard  Furness  amid  the  plethora  of 
notes,  you  must  not  hope  to  see  his  character 
completely  limned;  here  or  there  you  may  catch  a 
gleam  of  his  sprightly  humour  peering  from  some 
long  review  of  dry  commentary,  or  a  satisfying 
touch  of  his  sagacity  rounding  off  a  procession  of 
critical  paragraphs.    But  only  so  much  will  you 


INTRODUCTION  xxix 

see;  for  that  was  his  style,  that  was  his  character. 
For  instance,  after  all  the  commentators  had  shed 
ink  and  blood  to  no  purpose  in  discussing  the 
proper  metrical  division  of  the  opening  lines  of  the 
second  scene  of  "Twelfth  Night,"  and  after  the 
editor  had  shown  that  every  suggested  emenda- 
tion was  honeycombed  with  flaws,  he  closes  with, 
"Thus  encircled  by  a  lurid  horizon,  with  no  chance 
of  escape,  our  only  course  is  to  imitate  the  scorpion, 
retire  to  the  centre  and  die.  The  truth  is,  I  think, 
that  in  a  dialogue,  where  fragments  of  lines  are  in 
themselves  metrical,  it  is  folly  to  cut  them  up  into 
orthodox  pentameters  which  can  never  be  appreci- 
ated on  the  stage."  His  volumes,  from  their  nature, 
show  plainly  (and  often  pitifully)  enough  how  all 
the  commentators  since  the  dawn  of  Shakespearean 
criticism  have  been  only  too  ready  to  voice  their 
own  prejudices  and  opinions  noisily.  Nowhere, 
however,  does  Furness  join  this  rather  too-mortal 
chorus.  Throughout  each  play  he  seems  to  sit 
above  the  court  of  criticism,  hearing  alike  the 
learned  and  the  foolish  tell  their  tale,  then  with  a 
deft  turn  or  shrewd  remark  he  gives  life  to  the 
inert  mass  of  evidence  and  lays  the  whole  case 
clearly  before  the  reader.  And  although  regretting 
that  he  should  have  hidden  the  light  of  his  own 
opinions  beneath  so  many  dusty  bushels,  yet  the 
reader  of  the  Variorum  and  the  student  of  Shake- 
speare is  forced  unconsciously  into  a  position  of 
admiration  —  admiration  that,  as  he  laboured  in 
garnering  and  threshing  the  mountainous  crop  of 


XXX  INTRODUCnON 

Shakespeareana  from  all  the  English,  all  the  for- 
eign fields,  in  picking  the  sound  kernels  from  the 
mass  of  chaff,  he  was  able  to  keep  his  own  con- 
ceptions or  misgivings  from  intruding,  and,  may- 
hap, bruising  by  editorial  partiality  the  fruits  of 
his  labour.  This  position  he  could  maintain  because 
he  loved  Shakespeare.  Though  he  listened  patiently 
to  every  syllable  every  critic  uttered,  Shakespeare's 
own  music  was  ringing  through  his  brain  all  the 
while.  He  believed  implicitly  in  the  divine  right 
of  Shakespeare;  he  delighted  in  that  sonorous  title 
for  the  poet,  "Emperor,  by  the  Grace  of  God, 
of  all  literature."  He  once  said,  "It  is  a  fatal  mis- 
take, I  think,  which  many  critics  (and  especially 
the  Germans)  make,  that  they  measure  Shake- 
speare by  themselves,  instead  of  remembering  that 
he  is  a  law  unto  himself."  When  a  passage  was 
obscure,  he  was  content  to  leave  it  so,  and  to  ob- 
serve that  "a  little  obscurity  is  now  and  then 
nourishing";  when  critics  had  discussed  endlessly 
the  questionable  use  of  a  certain  word,  he  rejected 
the  whole  cabal  and  preferred  to  "admit  that 
after  Shakespeare  had  used  a  word  twice  in  an 
intelligible  though  illogical  meaning,  the  word 
might  as  well  be  adopted  into  the  language.  .  .  . 
It  would  have  a  paternity  which  many  a  perfectly 
legitimate  word  might  be  content  to  own."  And 
finally  he  could  never  enjoy  the  zeal  and  the  curi- 
osity of  those  who  tried  to  unearth  from  stray 
allusions  or  from  the  order  in  which  the  plays  were 
composed  facts  about  the  life  of  Shakespeare  — 


INTRODUCTION  xxxi 

"What  mortal  life,  filled  as  all  our  lives  are,  with 
low-thoughted  care,  can  ever  come  up  to  our 
picture  of  the  myriad-minded  creator  of  these 
plays!  He  speaks  to  us  from  a  higher  world,  and 
far,  far  better  is  it  to  leave  him  there,  a  bright  and 
aerial  spirit,  living  ensphered  in  regions  mild  of 
calm  and  serene  air ...  .  Can  we  not  fervently 
reecho:  'Good  friend,  for  Jesus'  sake  forbear.  To 
touch  the  dust  enclosed  here ' ! "  Yet  it  must  not  be 
thought  that  he  considered  Shakespeare  faultless; 
rather  could  he,  in  the  vastness  of  his  devotion, 
forgive  the  faults  and  love  the  more.  So  deep- 
seated,  indeed,  was  this  love  that  as  he  worked  on 
each  successive  play  he  lived  with  the  characters 
in  it;  he  selected  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  for  the  first 
play  to  edit  merely  because  he  was  enamoured  with 
its  beauty;  he  almost  vowed,  when  he  had  com- 
pleted "Othello,"  that  he  would  never  touch 
another  tragedy,  since  living  for  two  years  in  the 
dark  and  unrelieved  tragic  atmosphere  was 
scarcely  to  be  borne;  and  at  the  close  of  "Antony 
and  Cleopatra"  he  confessed  to  a  hopeless  love  for 
"the  fascinating  Egyptian  Queen."  It  is  pleasant 
to  think  of  him  in  his  hours  of  work  living  with 
these  children  of  the  master's  brain.  And,  ah, 
what  phantoms,  real  and  fantastical,  peopled  that 
book-walled  library,  that  workshop  of  a  scholar 
at  "Lindcnshade."  Here  were  enshrined  the 
memories  of  great  actors  and  actresses,  of  Garrick, 
Kean,  Macready,  Forrest,  and  the  Kembles,  of 
Mrs.  Siddons,  Lady  Martin,  Ellen  Terry,  and  a 


xxxii  INTRODUCTION 

host  of  others  whom  Furness  had  known  or  whose 
memory  he  cherished  because  they  had  brought 
further  honour  to  the  name  of  Shakespeare.  Here 
were  the  ghosts  of  all  Shakespearean  critics  whose 
fine  old  volumes  were  gathered  on  the  commodious 
shelves.  Here  were  the  spirits  of  all  Shakespeare- 
lovers  the  world  over,  humble  and  mighty  alike, 
and  with  all  these,  swelling  the  number  to  a  legion, 
were  all  the  characters  from  all  the  plays  —  "an- 
cient Greeks  and  ancient  Romans  and  ancient 
Britons,  kings  and  dukes  and  lords  of  France,  and 
kings  and  dukes  and  lords  of  England;  soldiers, 
sailors,  doctors,  and  lawyers,  sages  of  profound 
wisdom  and  clowns  of  profound  stupidity,  vener- 
able priests  and  horrid  cut-throats;  hoary  age  and 
prattling  infancy;  learned  magicians  and  drunken 
tinkers;  women  of, every  rank  and  every  station  — 
women  who  make  the  world  the  fairer  for  their 
ideal  lives,  and  women  who  should  be  palled  in 
the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell";  and  in  the  midst  of 
all  this  ghostly  throng  sat  the  deaf,  white-haired, 
kindly  editor  after  all  the  house  was  hushed,  save 
for  the  jarring  of  the  clock,  bending  over  his  page, 
turning  now  and  again  to  consult  some  volume  at 
his  side,  but  always  working,  working  on  silently 
into  the  night  with  that  full-sensed  enjoyment  of 
his  task  that  only  the  devoted  labourer  can  know. 
Let  this  be  the  portrait  of  him  at  his  midnight 
work,  surrounded  by  his  truest  friends. 

Yet  to  those  who  knew  the  hospitable  path  to 
"Lindenshade"    there    will    remain    other    well- 


INTRODUCTION  xxxlii 

remembered  pictures  of  Horace  Howard  Furness. 
Pictures  of  his  sparkling  dinners,  those  miraculous 
symposia  of  wit  and  wisdom,  at  which  the  spotless 
linen  and  bright  silver  plates,  the  old-fashioned 
dishes  and  smooth  wines  were  rivalled  in  their 
charm  only  by  the  talk;  at  which  dulness  found  no 
place  and  to  be  ill  at  ease  was  quite  unknown; 
dinners  of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out,  over 
which  the  master  of  the  house  presided  with  such 
bountiful,  courteous  grace,  smiling  expectantly 
with  hand  upon  his  silver  ear-trumpet  as  some 
joke  started  the  laughter  of  his  guests,  or  telling 
some  droll  tale  himself  with  his  own  inimitable 
humour  which  left  the  listeners  weak  from  laughing, 
or  taking  from  his  memory  some  anecdote  of  days 
long  dead  —  how  Lincoln  wrinkled  up  his  nose 
when  he  laughed,  how  Walt  Whitman  argued  with 
Emerson  or  how  "Fidelio"  was  sung  in  Munich 
fifty  years  syne.  Truly  the  mind  as  well  as  the 
body  dined  well  at  those  buxom  feasts.  Then  there 
would  be  the  glimpse  of  him  in  his  greenhouse 
amid  aromatic  odours,  repotting  with  tender  care 
some  prized  tropical  plant,  while  all  about  him 
pots  loaded  the  benches  with  their  greenery  and 
crowded  on  the  sills  against  the  sweated  glass;  or  of 
his  sturdy  figure  walking  in  the  garden,  preceded 
perhaps  by  a  scholarly  cat,  bending  here  to  ex- 
amine some  exotic  blossom  or  there  to  tend  some 
humbler  flowerof  the  field.  And  there  would  linger, 
too,  the  memory  of  the  last  picture  of  him,  in  the 
calm  hour  before  he  ascended  to  his  midnight  work, 


xxxiV  INTRODUCTION 

seated  upon  the  box-edged  terrace  in  front  of  the 
kindly  old  house,  after  dinner  on  a  warm  summer 
evening,  with  the  gleam  of  his  cigar  lighting  and 
dwindling  in  the  darkness,  while  the  breeze  stirred 
in  the  outstretched  branches  of  the  century  lin- 
dens and  the  sound  of  his  silver  voice  wove  an 
exquisite  charm. 

But  these,  alas,  are  only  fragile  memories,  for 
he  is  gone,  and  we  shall  not  look  upon  his  like 
again! 


THE  LETTERS  OF 
HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 


THE   LETTERS   OF 
HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 


CHAPTER  I 

YEARS  AT  HARVARD 

1851-1854 

Two  delightful  addresses  ^  which  Horace  Howard 
Furness  made  to  the  Philadelphia  Harvard  Club, 
in  which  he  described  the  appearances  and  cus- 
toms of  the  University  as  he  knew  it  in  the  early 
fifties,  enable  us  to  visualize  a  background  for  the 
letters  he  wrote  to  his  family  during  his  college 
course.  The  roots  of  his  life  struck  so  deeply  into 
Cambridge  soil  that  even  during  half  a  century  his 
affection  for  Harvard  never  wavered,  his  admira- 
tion for  Dr.  James  Walker,  the  President  of  Har- 
vard in  his  day,  never  waned,  and  the  friendships 
there  established  never  died.    He  said: 

"When  I  entered  College  in  1850,  the  grounds 
presented  an  appearance  very,  very  different  from 
what  they  are  at  present:  there  was  a  clump  of  fine 
large  trees,  just  about,  I  should  think,  where  Rob- 
inson Hall  now  stands,  and  among  the  trees  a 
little  pool  of  surface  water  stood,  possibly  eight  or 

»  Addresses  of  the  President  of  the  Philadelphia  Harvard  Club, 
1905  and  1906. 


2  HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

ten  feet  In  diameter,  In  which  the  Reverend  Wil- 
liam Ware,  who  entered  College  In  1812,  told  me 
that  he  and  his  classmates  were  wont  to  go  In  bath- 
ing. Where  Memorial  Hall  now  stands  was  the 
Delta  where,  after  supper,  football  was  always 
played  in  autumn  twilights. 

"The  'Officers  of  Instruction  and  Government,' 
including  of  course  the  Faculties  of  the  Law,  Medi- 
cal, Scientific,  and  Divinity  Schools,  numbered  all 
told  forty-two;  of  these  five  were  Tutors,  and  two 
were  Instructors,  one  In  German  and  the  other  in 
French,  and  three  were  Proctors.  ...  In  1850  the 
total  number  of  sucklings  at  the  fair  founts  of  our 
Alma  Mater  was  six  hundred  and  four.  .  .  . 

"When  I  entered,  our  class  numbered  sixty-five, 
but  when  we  graduated,  owing  to  additions  from 
a  South  Carolina  College,  which  broke  up,  the 
number  was  ninety-one  —  the  largest  class  that 
had  ever  been  graduated.  .  .  . 

"In  my  Freshman  and  Sophomore  years  there 
were  three  recitations  a  day,  one  In  the  morning, 
from  seven  to  eight  in  the  summer  term,  and  eight 
to  nine  In  the  winter,  one  at  noon,  and  one  before 
supper,  from  five  to  six.  In  the  Junior  and  Senior 
years  there  were  four  or  five  courses  that  were 
obligatory,  and  then  there  were  courses  in  Greek, 
Latin,  Mathematics,  Spanish,  German,  Italian, 
and  Hebrew,  from  which  each  student  could  select 
one  which  he  must  retain  throughout  the  year.  .  .  . 

"Attendance  at  Prayers  was  obligatory,  and 
they  were  held,  In  the  morning,  at  six  In  summer 


HARVARD  IN  THE  FIFTIES  3 

arxd  at  seven  in  winter,  and  In  the  evening  at  six; 
attendance  on  Saturday  afternoon  prayers  might 
be  omitted,  but  he  who  omitted  the  ceremony 
must,  before  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  show  him- 
self and  give  his  name  to  a  tutor  in  some  stated 
room.  .  .  . 

*'The  number  of  Societies  was  not  many.  The 
first  to  come  In  the  Sophomore  year  was  'The 
Institute  of  1770.'  Inasmuch  as  this  had  a  good 
library,  it  was  thought  rather  illiberal  not  to  take 
into  its  membership  as  many  as  possible  —  about 
half  the  class,  therefore,  belonged  to  it.  There  was 
no  initiation,  merely  the  notification  of  election 
stamped,  with  a  beautiful  large  agate  seal,  In  red 
wax.  I  was  the  Secretary,  and  the  care  of  this  seal 
fell  to  me,  and  I  remember  how  zealously  I  emu- 
lated the  busy  little  bee  when  how  neat  he  spreads 
his  wax.  .  .  . 

"Then  there  was  *The  Hasty  Pudding  Club,' 
in  whose  records  I  had  the  infinite  pleasure  of 
reading  some  of  the  minutes  of  meetings  written 
in  my  father's  boyish  hand.  .  .  .  The  initiation  was 
certainly  admirable  fooling.  One  great  feature  was 
the  tossing  in  a  blanket  in  the  College  yard,  of 
course  at  night.  This  truly  delightful  function  be- 
gan two  classes  before  me  at  the  initiation  of  a  dear 
good  fellow,  named  Waring,  from  Brooklyn,  New 
York.  He  was  tossed,  sorrowful  man,  in  a  blanket 
from  his  own  bed,  and  since  he  was  unusually  stout, 
the  blanket  gave  way  and  Waring  went  through  the 
rent.   Thereupon  it  was  decided  to  have  a  blanket 


4  HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

made  in  the  most  substantial  manner,  and  this  took 
shape  in  a  piece  of  very  stout  canvas  about  ten 
feet  square,  with  continuous  rope  handles  all  about 
its  four  sides.  Oh,  the  ecstasy  of  it  all!  when  the 
blanket  was  spread  on  the  ground  and  on  it  was 
gently  laid  the  neophyte,  all  unconscious  of  what 
was  in  store  for  him,  until  after  two  soothing, 
gentle  heavings  came  the  cry,  'Now,  fellows,  pull 
taut!'  and  up  the  victim  soared,  in  full  evening 
dress  and  with  a  tall  silk  hat  on,  and  such  antics 
and  sprawlings,  and  gyrations  aloft!  I  shall  never 
forget  Phillips  Brooks,  he  was  so  very  big  and  rose 
so  very  high,  with  arms  and  legs  wide  spread  — ■ 
I  remember  we  tossed  him  until  for  laughing  we 
could  not  lift  the  blanket.  Twenty-five  years  later, 
he  and  I  happened  to  meet  in  Cambridge  and  he 
spoke  with  enthusiasm  of  old  days  and  with  what 
delight  he  would  return  to  them.  'What!'  I  said, 
'and  be  tossed  in  a  blanket.^'  'Yes,  indeed,'  he 
instantly  replied  with  sparkling  eyes,  'in  a  minute!' 
'Ah,  dear  Brooks,'  I  rejoined,  'you  soared  above 
our  heads  then,  as  you  have  done  ever  since.'  .  .  . 
"I  wish  I  could  paint  for  you  our  great  Harvard 
President  ^  as  his  figure  rises  before  me  through 
the  vista  of  fifty-six  years:  tall,  active,  slim,  alert, 
with  dark  waving  hair,  no  spectacles,  with  a  smile 
that  has  never  yet  lost  its  charm,  and  already  giv- 
ing promise  of  that  granitic  firmness  on  the  side 
of  truth  and  honour  and  high  morality  which  has 
characterized  his  manhood  and  his  age.   Who  can 

*  Charles  W.  Eliot;  he  was  one  class  ahead  of  H.  H.  F. 


PROFESSOR  LONGFELLOW  5 

measure  the  ever-widening  circles  of  honour  and  of 
earnestness,  enlarging  as  they  roll,  until  they  touch 
the  confines  of  this  continent,  which  took  their 
first  impulse  from  this  honourable,  earnest,  manly 
life?  .  .  . 

"I  will  give  you  two  or  three  verses,  all  I  can 
remember,  which  were  irreverently  made  on  Long- 
fellow, premising  merely  that  the  Professor,  as  he 
was  then,  was  extremely  neat,  and  precise  and 
fashionable  in  his  attire,  and  wont  to  wear  English 
low  splatterdashes,  or  gaiters,  as  we  called  them, 
and  a  gay  necktie.  And  I  would  not  be  thus  irrev- 
erent to  his  memory,  were  it  not  that  it  was  well 
understood  at  the  time  that  the  poet  had  heard  the 
verses  and  had  a  hearty  laugh  over  them. 

Just  twig  the  Professor,  dressed  out  in  his  best, 
Yellow  kids  and  buff  gaiters,  green  breeches,  blue  vest. 

Chorus:  Longfellow,  Longfellow,  Longfellow,  fellow,  fellow, 

The  man  who  wrote  Evangeline,  his  name  is  Long- 
fellow. 

With  his  hat  on  one  whisker,  with  an  air  that  says  'go 

it!' 
Here,  boys,  is  your  great  North  American  Poet. 

Evangeline's  his  best;  'tis  a  tale  of  Acady, 

'Tis  the  sorrowful  tale  of  a  love-sick  young  lady. 

Longfellow,  Longfellow,    Longfellow,  fellow,  fellow, 
etc." 

These  pleasant  scraps  of  recollection,  then,  must 
suffice  as  an  introduction  to  the  letters  that  follow, 
and,   indeed,   they  are  more  sufficient    than   any 


6  HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

words  we  might  write.  If  the  reader  cannot  In 
some  small  measure  feel  the  Harvard  atmosphere 
that  Furness  knew  in  the  fifties,  then  no  facts, 
dates,  or  anecdotes  gathered  and  sifted  by  younger 
hands  can  make  it  apparent;  to  add  more  were  to 
step  intrusively  into  an  age  whereof  we  are  no  part. 

To  his  Father 

Cambridge,  June  ^th,  1852 
If  perchance,  my  dear  Father,  you  should  ever 
in  future  miss  my  letter  on  Tuesday  or  even 
Wednesday,  set  it  down  either  to  the  failure  of  the 
mail  or  to  some  accident  of  putting  it  into  the  mail, 
but  be  assured  that  I  shall  never  forget  or  neglect 
to  write  as  usual  upon  Sunday.  .  .  . 

You  accuse  me  of  not  telling  you  about  the 
Abolition  fuss  here  in  Cambridge.  I  should  have 
been  very  happy  to  have  done  so  had  I  known 
anything  about  it  myself,  &  until  you  mentioned 
it  in  your  letter  I  didn't  know  that  a  "fuss"  had 
occurred.  I  remember  some  one's  telling  me  that 
a  Southern  Law  student  had  threatened  to  challenge 
a  New  Yorker  because  of  certain  remarks  on  Slav- 
ery, but  that  the  quarrel  had  there  ceased.  .  .  .  The 
true  state  of  the  case,  however,  I  believe  to  be  this: 
there  has  been  a  debate  on  Slavery  in  the  Law 
School  Debating  Society,  in  the  course  of  which  a 
New  Yorker  made  use  of  some  strong  expressions 
about  the  South,  when  a  Southern  rowdie  said 
he'd  take  up  the  cause  of  the  South  &  challenge 
the  Northerner,  whereat  the  Northerner  (when  it 


CHARLES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  7 

was  reported  to  him)  coolly  remarked  that  the 
only  notice  he  should  take  of  the  challenge  was  to 
hand  the  sender  of  it  over  to  the  constable,  it  being 
not  only  against  the  laws,  but  against  his  principles 
to  fight  a  duel.  This  coming  to  the  Southerner's 
ears  he  wisely  neglected  to  perform  his  threat,  and 
so  the  matter  ended.  The  New  York  Herald,  how- 
ever, got  hold  of  it  and  blazoned  it  in  exaggerated 
terms  far  and  wide.  .  .  . 

I,  insignificant  I,  was  never  so  homesick  before, 
as  now.  What  to  do  with  the  rest  of  the  term  I 
don't  know.  There  has  been  quite  a  panic  in  the 
high  scholars  in  our  class  in  consequence  of  Dr. 
Walker's  saying  five  Fresh-Juniors  were  going  to 
come  into  the  first  eight  &  one  of  them  was  go- 
ing to  stand  ahead  of  Lowell.^  It  is  the  greatest 
outrage  I  ever  heard  of.  I  am  sure  if  such  is  the 
case,  if  Lowell  doesn't  have  the  Valedictory  at 
Commencement,  there  will  be  little  short  of  rebel- 

'  Charles  Russell  Lowell,  1835-1864,  Captain  Sixth  U.S.  Cavalry, 
Colonel  Second  Massachusetts  Cavalry,  Brigadier-General  U.S.  Vol- 
unteers. This  brilliant  classmate  of  H.  H.  F.'s  served  gallantly 
from  the  very  beginning  of  the  War  of  the  Rebellion  until  he  fell,  mor- 
tally wounded,  at  Cedar  Creek  in  the  Shenandoah  Valley  Campaign, 
while  leading  his  brigade  in  a  charge  upon  the  enemy's  position, 
October  19,  1864.  H.  H.  F.  in  a  letter  to  Edward  Emerson  wrote  of 
his  recollections  of  Lowell  at  Harvard :  "  Charlie  Lowell  was  the  young- 
est member  of  our  Class,  I  think,  and  during  the  First  Term,  Fresh- 
man, wore  a  roundabout  jacket.  ...  Of  all  the  rest  of  us  he  won  his 
way  into  my  good  graces  by  his  vivacity,  his  thoroughly  boyish 
open-heartedness,  his  eagerness  for  fun  and  frolic,  and  his  indiffer- 
ence to  the  high  rank  to  which  he  at  once  attained  by  easy  strides  and 
maintained.  ...  I  doubt  that  any  scholar  ever  held  that  position 
with  more  unwavering  acquiescence  on  the  part  of  his  classmates  in 
his  right  to  it  than  LowelL" 


8  HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

Hon.  I  for  one  won't  speak  on  that  day  &  I  doubt 
whether  another  single  fellow  of  the  first  thirty- 
five  would,  in  fact  I  know  they  wouldn't.  .  .  . 
My  love  to  all  as  loves  me,  &  believe  me 

Yours 
,. ,  Horace 

To  his  Father 

Cambridge,  October  31,  1852 
I  KEPT  on  the  even  tenor  of  my  way  from  the 
time  you  left  till  last  Thursday,  when  it  was  an- 
nounced that  we  should  have  no  recitations  the 
next  day,  the  day  of  Mr.  [Daniel]  Webster's  Fu- 
neral. I  had  previously  determined  to  go  to  Marsh- 
field  at  all  hazards,  &  from  that  moment  Fortune 
seemed  to  smile  on  my  endeavors. 

The  nearest  route  to  Marshfield  is  to  take  the 
cars  to  Kingston,  about  thirty-three  miles,  &  then 
take  a  carriage,  &  ride  seven  miles  to  Mr.  W.'s 
farm.  A  classmate  residing  in  Kingston,  yclept 
Holmes  (a  nevy  of  Dr.  Holmes),  invited  me  to 
come  to  his  house  &  he  w'ld  then  take  me  over  to 
Marshfield  in  his  own  carriage.  In  order  to  go  in 
the  early  train,  a  quarter  before  eight,  I  went  to 
Boston  &  spent  the  night.  In  this  early  train  there 
were  eight  cars  averaging  sixty  persons  in  a  car; 
notwithstanding  I  was  lucky  enough  to  get  a  good 
seat  near  the  window  &  hugely  enjoyed  the  splen- 
did autumn  day  and  foliage.  At  Kingston  I  found 
my  classmate  waiting  for  me,  &  was  by  him  put  in- 
to a  carriage,  &  was  soon  on  the  way  to  Marshfield 


FUNERAL  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER       9 

over  a  road  wonderfully  like  those  at  Cape  May, 
yellow  sand  a  foot  deep,  &  low  stunted  pine  trees 
on  both  sides  of  the  way.  And,  Lord  bless  me! 
what  numbers  of  carriages!  Their  name.was  legion, 
that  is,  about  two  thousand,  as  near  as  I  can  guess. 
.  .  .  Each  little  road,  from  some  neighboring  vil- 
lage or  town,  mustered  its  crowd  as  we  pass,  &  even 
at  the  distance  of  three  or  four  miles  the  scene  par- 
took of  solemnity.  There  was  no  gayety  or  un- 
seemly mirth.  Every  one  was  silent  and  seemed  In 
earnest. 

When  I  reached  Marshfield,  I  found  Mr.  Web- 
ster's body  was  laid  out  under  a  tree,  &  that  a 
queue  of  considerable  length  had  formed;  the  men 
walked  two  by  two  up  to  the  coffin,  then  separated, 
one  on  each  side  of  it,  after  passing  it  again  joined 
&  then  marched  through  his  house.  When  I  got 
there,  as  I  said,  the  queue  was  quite  long,  &  as 
waiting  was  not  very  consonant  with  my  mood,  I 
coolly  went  and  stood  alongside  one  of  the  men  a 
few  feet  from  the  coffin;  the  man  could  not  say  a 
word,  for  I  interfered  with  no  one.  Whether  Mr. 
Webster  looked  natural  or  not  I  cannot  say,  never 
having  seen  him  when  alive,  but  he  certainly 
looked  very  haggard,  careworn,  &  black.  He  was 
dressed,  I  believe,  in  his  usual  style,  for  the  whole 
lid  of  the  coffin  being  off,  the  entire  man  could  be 
seen.  There  were  flowers  in  profusion  in  his  coffin, 
&  I  stooped  over  and  plucked  an  ivy  leaf  from  a 
wreath  of  the  same  placed  near  his  head.  .  .  .  In- 
stead of  joining  my  companion  &  going  through 


10         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

the  house,  I  simply  stepped  aside  &  took  my  sta- 
tion near  one  of  the  undertakers,  from  whence  I 
could  look  to  my  heart's  content  &  endeavored  to 
impress  Mr.  Webster's  features  on  my  mind. 

After  standing  there  about  half  an  hour  I  went 
through  his  house  &  over  his  grounds.  The  latter 
are  splendid.  Everything  is  on  the  grandest  scale. 
It  is  a  farm  of  eighteen  hundred  acres.  The  num- 
ber of  people  at  his  funeral  was  immense.  The 
various  estimates  are  from  seven  thousand  to 
twenty  thousand,  of  which  the  former  appears 
nearer  the  truth. 

It  was  really  a  very  impressive  scene.  The  coffin 
was  under  a  tree,  whose  leaves  appeared  to  have 
been  spared  by  the  autumn,  &  the  sun  (for  it  was 
a  most  heavenly  day)  shimmered  down  through 
them,  right  upon  his  very  face.  Every  one  was 
silent  or  else  spoke  in  whispers.  But  not  always  — 
one  man  (a  brute)  came  up  eating  an  apple,  &  just 
before  he  came  to  the  coffin  took  an  extra-ordina- 
rily  large  bite,  so  that  his  eating  might  not  be  in- 
terrupted. 

I  returned  with  Holmes  &  partook  of  a  grand 
country  dinner  at  his  house  &  returned  in  the  after- 
noon train,  &  reached  Cambridge  at  six  o'clock, 
having  passed  an  eventful  day.  I  have  nothing 
else  to  tell;  the  above  has  been  the  thing  of  the 
week,  &  there  is  nothing  new  —  xcept  that  Wil- 
liam ^  is  not  going  to  start  till  Friday. 
Love  to  all.  Yours 

Horace 

*  H.  H.  F.'s  elder  brother,  William  Henry  Furness,  Jr. 


A  JOLLIFICATION  ix 

To  his  Family 

Cambridge,  January  g,  1853 
Will  is  with  you  again,  my  dear  kiths  and  kins, 
and  has  undoubtedly  told  you  all  about  me  that 
was  tellable,  and  there  is  little  left  for  me.  How 
soon  we  shall  see  each  other!  —  one  week  from 
next  Wednesday  is  "the  last  of  examinations,  I 
am  content."  Hurree!  I  spose  very  few  letters 
more  will  be  written  on  either  side. 

This  week  has  been  a  comparatively  easy  one  — 
no  Theme  nor  Forensic.  And  I  have  consequently 
enjoyed  a  splendid  "otium"  "cum"  delightfullest 
"dignitate."  Last  Thursday,  Twelfth  Night,  I 
was  invited  to  a  jollification  in  Putnam's  room, 
to  meet  some  half  a  dozen  fellows,  all  Alpha  Delta 
Phi-men,  and  that  one  title  implies  everything 
that's  fine.  We  had  a  royal  time.  Steaming  hot 
punch  circulated  freely,  though  not  in  my  veins. 
I  carried  my  baccy-box  &  smoked  and  sang  for 
the  benefit  of  the  rest.  About  eleven  o'clock  there 
was  an  alarm  of  fire:  the  omnibus  stable  at  the 
'Port.  An  omnibus  came  up  to  spread  the  alarm. 
Instantly  greatcoats  and  india-rubbers  were  flung 
on,  &  we  sallied  forth.  You  know  I  have  a  pen- 
chant for  improving  my  lungs  —  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  noise.  I  caught  the  omnibus  just  as  it  was 
returning,  jumped  on,  several  followed  my  ex- 
ample, &  we  rode  every  step  of  the  way  to  the 
fire  in  great  style.  When  there  I  excited  great 
wrath  from  the  firemen  by  repeating  in  a  stento- 
rian voice  any  orders  which  I  might  perchance  hear. 


12         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

such  as  "Play  on,  No.  3!"  "Stop  playing,  No. 
6!"  &  the  like.  To  a  disinterested  spectator  I 
was  the  "factotum"  of  the  fire.  Especially  since 
as  soon  as  I  left  the  place  it  broke  out  with  re- 
doubled fury.  I  returned  to  the  room  after  half  an 
hour's  pleasing  excitement.  This  I  believe  is  the 
only  incident  of  the  week. 

On  Friday  even'g,  I  was  elected  Vice  President 
of  the  Natural  History  Society,  an  oihce  in  which 
there  is  little  or  nothing  to  be  done  as  long  as  the 
President  does  his  duty,  else  I  would  not  have 
accepted  it.  The  Prex  is  always  a  Senior.  It  is 
a  fine  society  &  never  more  flourishing  than  at 
present;  the  other  day  the  Curators  of  the  different 
departments  in  it  (myself  among  the  rest.  Curator 
of  Entomology)  collected  together  and  made  up  a 
very  neat  document,  setting  forth  the  great  value 
of  the  society  &  requesting  aid  of  the  Corporation 
of  the  College  for  the  furtherance  of  its  interests, 
fitting  up  the  room  and  the  like.  The  result  was 
a  cool  hundred  dollars,  and  fuel  and  oil  whenever 
we  wanted  it.  Wasn't  it  munificent?  .... 

To  his  Family 

Cambridge,  May  Day,  1853     ' 

Dear  Father,  Mother,  and  Annis  ("lastum 
sed  non  leastum,"  as  Binney  used  to  say),  the 
four  letters  that  I  have  this  week  received  have 
been  sweeter  to  me  than  the  happy  ending  of  a 
tale  —  even  Villette.  I  hardly  expect  greater  pleas- 
ure when  I  go  to  Paradise  all  popilated  with  houris 


ELECTED  TO  PHI  BETA  KAPPA   13 

and  ballet  dancers.  I  always  read  letters  from 
home  with  that  keen  relish  and  intense  interest, 
which  is  so  distressing  to  a  disinterested  spectator 
to  observe  without  being  able  to  share  in  it.  As 
the  event  of  this  week  has  been  the  receipt  of  these 
letters,  I  feel  very  much  inclined  to  write  about 
them  —  perhaps  give  extracts  from  them,  only 
I  am  afraid  that  to  you  it  would  be  rather  stale. 
Did  I  say  the  event?  how  could  I  forget,  even  for 
an  instant,  my  election  into  that  renowned  society, 
the  Phi  Beta  Kappa?  a  society  which  keeps  so  con- 
stantly in  view  the  improvement  of  its  members, 
meeting  as  it  does  once  a  year,  &  offering  the  splen- 
did advantage  of  a  Library  of  twenty  or  thirty 
volumes.  Had  it  not  been  for  that  opportune  fif- 
teen dollars,  I  should  have  been  compelled  to  refuse 
joining,  for  the  initiation  fee  is  {horribile  dictu!) 
seven  dollars.  I  am  uncertain  whether  I  did  right 
to  join  as  it  is,  but  then  I  reflected  that  it  is  the 
highest  literary  society  in  the  United  States  &  that 
it  is  a  good  deal  of  an  honor  to  belong  to  it,  so  I  con- 
sented. The  fact  that  Father  had  belonged  to  it 
made  it  in  my  eyes  more  of  an  honor  than  any- 
thing else;  besides,  the  seven  dollars  (in  which  a 
medal  is  included)  is  the  only  money  I  shall  ever 
have  to  pay.  We  are  to  have  a  grand  supper  next 
Thursday  eve'g  at  Porter's,  but  whether  I  go  or  not 
is  uncertain.  Much  against  my  will  I  was  made 
Chairman  of  the  Committee  of  Arrangements  for 
the  dinner  on  the  Thursday  after  Commencement, 
but  whether  I  go  to  that  also  or  not  is  uncertain. 


14         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

For  besides  having  to  stay  away  from  home  one 
day  longer  (which  is  the  greatest  objection)  my 
duties  would  be  somewhat  onerous;  I  should  have 
to  take  care  of  Mr.  R.  C.  Winthrop,  the  pres't  of  ye 
society,  &  the  Orator  &  the  Poet,  &  come  all  man- 
ner of  dodges.  .  .  . 

My  lessons  go  on  so  so.  I  am  beginning  to  feel 
somewhat  dismal  about  my  rank,  but  of  that  more 
hereafter;  I  miss  the  encouragement  of  Tutor 
Chase.  The  other  day  a  funny  incident  occurred 
in  ye  Latin  Recitation.  You  must  know,  of  course, 
my  reputation  of  being  an  incorrigible  "dig." 
Well,  I  was  scanning  some  Iambic  Trimeters  in 
Professor  Lane's  room  the  other  afternoon;  the 
words  were  —  tu  dignu's  qui  sies  (Plautinian 
Latin).  I  accordingly  commenced  "tu  dig  — 
Iamb"  (I  am)  and  there  was  a  general  symptom  of 
concealed  laughter.  I  luckily  kept  my  countenance 
and  on  .  .  . 

It  is  growing  late  and  I  must  bid  you  all  Good- 
night, 

Yours 

Horace 

To  his  Family 

Cambridge,  May  15,  1853 
...  I  AM  very  glad  that  you  are  all  pleased  with 
what  you  call  my  "clustering  honors.*^  But  I  am 
afraid  you  attach  too  much  importance  to  them. 
To  get  into  the  Phi  Beta  is  a  natural  consequence 
of  high  rank  (for  the  choice  generally  falls  upon  the 


"DIGGING"  IS 

first  eight  or  nine)  unless  you  are  especially  dis- 
liked or  unpopular,  which  was  unfortunately  the 
case  with  two  of  our  high  scholars,  so  that  there 
were  but  seven  elected  from  our  class.  We  were 
all  of  us  quite  vexed  that  it  should  be  so.  It  was 
giving  needless  pain.  For  it  was  not  so  much  the 
honor  of  getting  in,  as  it  is  the  dishonor  of  being 
left  out.  ...  As  you  say  I  have  gotten  to  the  end  of 
clubs,  there  are  no  more  left,  and  it  is  perhaps  on 
some  accounts  a  little  of  a  satisfaction  that  I  have 
always  been  among  the  first  elected  into  each. 
You  ask  me  to  talk  to  you  just  as  though  I  were 
talking  to  myself.  I  am  not  what  would  be  called 
a  "popular  fellow."  And  I  have  no  ambition  to  be 
such.  The  popularity  that  I  possess  is  the  kind  I 
do  care  for. 

To  a  large  number  of  every  class  the  epithet  of 
"dig"  is  a  reproach,  &  I  deservedly  have  that 
title,  but  I  have  been  so  consistent  throughout  in 
"digging,"  that  my  classmates  cannot  but  feel  a 
respect  for  me  &  think  that  I  deserve  every  inch 
of  the  rank  that  I  have  acquired,  &  would  feel 
quite  sorry  to  see  me  seriously  lose  it;  that  I  have 
lost  some  of  it  there  is  no  doubt;  I  believe  I  am  now 
the  fourth.  There  is  another  thing  that  I  might 
have  done  in  order  to  gain  so-called  "popularity," 
that  is,  visiting  &  associating  more  generally  with 
my  class.  This  I  have  never  done,  for  I  always 
have  considered  it  &  always  shall  look  upon  it  as 
a  great  waste  of  valuable  time;  if  any  desire  my 
company  they  must  seek  it,  and  I  assure  you  I 


i6         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

have  enough  seekers,  almost  too  many,  for  I  am 
sometimes  obliged  to  act  quite  rudely,  such  as 
keeping  on  studying  with  almost  the  same  attention 
after  the  entrance  of  company  as  before.  This, 
however,  I  do  only  to  my  most  intimate  friends, 
&  they  always  understand  it.  So  much  for  the 
present  about  myself.  .  .  . 

Forgive  this  plaguey  nonsense  in  this  silly  letter 
and  believe  me 

Yours 

Horace 

To  his  Sister 

Cambridge,  May  29,  1853 
This  week  has  passed  most  delightfully.  I  felt 
perfectly  free,  &  mingled  study  &  recreation  in  the 
most  delicious  confusion.  As  time  by  no  means 
hung  heavy  on  my  hands  I  was  under  no  sort  of 
obligations  to  teach  the  orphan  girl  to  read  or  the 
orphan  boy  to  sew.  I  read,  wrote,  slept,  and 
smoked  to  my  heart's  content.  Yesterday  after- 
noon I  read  a  "History  of  the  Inquisition"  & 
gradually  dreamed  off  &  awoke  maintaining  that 
some  one  or  other,  I  couldn't  remember  the  name, 
would  make  a  most  capital  General  Inquisitor. 
The  event  of  the  week,  however,  was  the  Inaugura- 
tion of  Pres't  Walker.  There  was  none  of  the  pomp 
and  magnificence  of  preceding  years,  yet  it  was 
still  quite  imposing.  The  first  ceremony  was  the 
planting  of  a  young  tree,  which  ever  after  bears 
Dr.  Walker's  nam^e.  This  is  a  time-honored  custom 


INAUGURATION  OF  DR.  WALKER    17 

and  Is  performed  as  follows.  In  the  morning  about 
ten  o'clock  the  Senior  class  marched  in  a  body  to 
Pres't  Sparks'  ^  &  presented  a  handsome  bouquet 
to  Lady  S.;  thence  to  Dr.  Walker's  &  gave  a  similar 
bouquet  to  Lady  W.  Retiring  from  Dr.  Walker's, 
the  President-elect  accompanied  them  and  was 
escorted  into  the  College  yard  to  where  a  hole  had 
been  dug,  into  which  was  placed  a  fine  young  pine 
tree;  the  Chief  Marshal  then  steps  forward  and 
addresses  a  flowery,  spooney  speech  to  Dr.  Walker, 
who  replies  somewhat  similarly,  about  children's 
children  (i.e.,  grandchildren)  sitting  under  the 
shade  of  It  &  reflecting  with  pleasure  upon  its  plant- 
ing. (Now  if  there  are  the  same  laws  in  force  then, 
as  now,  they  will  be  very  quickly  dispersed  as  a 
"parietal  group."  Dr.  Walker  then  advances  & 
throws  in  the  first  shovelful  of  earth,  &  is  followed 
by  each  member  of  the  class,  doing  the  same  in 
turn;  "and  now,"  said  the  Doctor  as  he  threw 
down  the  shovel,  "where  are  your  'digs'?"  What 
hand-clapping  and  what  laughter!  (But  between 
you  and  me,  I  think  it  was  a  joke  that  he  heard 
among  the  bystanders  at  President  Sparks'  or 
Everett's  Inauguration.)  The  worthy  Doctor  was 
then  accompanied  home  and  the  crowd  dispersed 
to  celebrate  the  day  in  uproarious  carousals.  And 
upon  my  word,  I  never  saw  such  almost  universal, 
what  shall  I  call  It  —  intoxication  Is  too  gross  a 
term  to  apply  to  such  good  fellows  &  yet  it  was 

*  Jared  Sparks,  LL.D.,  President  of  Harvard  from  1849  until  1853 
when  he  resigned  on  account  of  ill  health. 


1 8         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

nothing  more  nor  less.  One  of  my  classmates  was 
not  far  from  the  truth,  when  he  said  that  "there 
were  not  more  than  fifteen  fellows  out  of  our  class, 
who  were  not  'tight'  that  day";  and  what  was  true 
of  our  class  was  true  of  the  other  three  also.  You 
know  my  penchant  for  such  scenes,  &  I  assure  you 
that  that  day  I  saw  some  rich  ones.  I  hate  to  have 
any  one  get  "tight,"  but  if  he  must  &  will  do  so, 
why,  pray  let  me  see  him,  &  when  he  is  getting 
over  it  I  will  administer  soda  water  &  good  advice 
to  his  heart's  content.  On  the  day  in  question,  at 
about  eleven  o'clock  I  was  lying  reading  on  my 
sofa,  now  and  then  interrupted  by  bursts  of  merri- 
ment, when  a  real  good  friend  of  mine,  who  is,  how- 
ever rather  fond  of  getting  elevated  semioccasion- 
ally  &  then  comes  &  confesses  to  me,  so  to  speak, 
rushed  into  my  room,  bawling  out:  "Furness,  you 
old  fool  you!  get  up!  come  round  to  D.'s;  you  must 
come;  all  the  fellows  are  round  there  &  we're 
having  a  glorious  time!"  This  speech  was  inter- 
spersed with  adjectives  "immentionable  to  ears 
perlite."  I  complied,  &  truly  it  was  the  most  ludi- 
crous sight  I  ever  witnessed.  There  were  about 
fifteen  or  twenty  fellows  scarcely  conscious  of  what 
they  were  about,  &  in  shaking  hands  with  them  I 
was  obliged  to  dodge  the  wine  &  punch  which  they 
would  otherwise  have  spilt  over  me.  I  could  fill 
sheets  with  description  of  the  ridiculous  scenes; 
one,  however,  will  suffice.  One  of  the  company 
happening  to  find  himself  in  front  of  a  looking- 
glass  inquired  "who  was  that  spooney  fellow  look- 


CAROUSALS  19 

ing  at  him";  receiving  no  reply  he  aimed  a  blow  & 
shivered  the  glass  to  atoms,  &  turning  around  with 
a  satisfied  look  said,  he  "thought  that  rather 
knocked  him!" 

So  much  for  the  forenoon;  in  the  afternoon  we 
were  marshalled  class  by  class  &  joined  in  the 
grand  procession  which  escorted  Dr.  Walker  to  the 
church.  Here  the  Governor  (Clifford)  made  a  very 
neat  speech  &  delivered  to  Dr.  W.  the  old  Charter 
&  the  seal  &  large  silver  keys  of  the  College.  Dr. 
W.  replied,  &  there  was  an  oration  in  Latin  by  Car- 
roll, the  first  scholar  of  the  Senior  class.  After  that 
followed  Dr.  Walker's  address,  &  a  splendid  one  it 
was;  it  answered  all  the  charges  which  of  late  have 
been  brought  against  colleges.  Its  length  was  its 
only  fault;  it  will  be  printed  &  will  I  think  make 
quite  a  sensation.  After  the  address  followed  the 
Doxology.  And  you'd  better  believe  I  put  in  vig- 
orously. Every  one  joined  &  it  did  sound  grandly. 
After  that  we  again  marched  round  Cambridge  & 
finally  dispersed,  &  night  &  carousals  began  to 
thicken.  In  the  eve'g  W.  &  myself  went  up  to 
the  H.  P.  C.  room  and  he  read  the  last  number  of 
"Bleak  House"  to  me,  &  we  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  it  was  a  fine  one  —  splenndid.  .  .  . 

My  desire  to  see  you  all  is  inexpressible.  .  .  . 
Oceans  of  love  to  Father  &  Mother,  &  continents 
for  yourself,  &  believe  me,  darling  sister, 

Yours 

Horace 


20         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

To  his  Family 

Cambridge,  October  2,  1853 
My  dear   Relatives,  considerably  dearer  than 
the  light  that  visits  these  sad  eyes,  I  have  had  a 
jolly  week,  &  hoping  that  you  have  had  the  same, 
I  will  proceed  to  unfold  to  you  some  of  the  causes 
of  this  pleasure.    In  the  first  place,  I  have  been 
terribly  busy,  a  thing  I  always  enjoy.    I  had  to 
hand  In  a  Forensic  on  Thursday  in  which  the  ques- 
tion whether  it  was  just  that  a  person  should  be 
taxed  by  law  for  the  support  of  religious  forms  & 
ordinances,  was  to  be  forever  settled.   Wednesday 
afternoon  not  a  word  of  it  had  been  written,  partly 
through    lack    of    time,    but    mostly   because    I 
couldn't  arrive  at  any  decision  about  it.    Finally 
I  decided  in  the  affirmative  &  wrote  it  Wednesday 
eve'g.  The  second  cause  of  my  pleasure  (but  I  for- 
got to  mention  that  Thursday,  after  I  was  through 
with  that  Forensic,  Christian's  joys  after  he  was 
released  from  his  uncomfortable  burden  wasn't  a 
circumstance  to  mine)   was   the  meeting  of  the 
Natural  History  Society.    I  had  invited  Professor 
Agasslz  with  hardly  a  hope  that  he  would  come, 
but  to  my  great  delight  he  made  his  appearance 
at  the  beginning  of  the  meeting,  accompanied  by 
his  son  ^  who  is  a  member  of  the  society.   I  did  the 
honors  of  the  occasion  &  conducted  him  to  a  seat. 
The  order  of  performance  in  that  society  is  that 
members  read  papers  on  various  subjects  supplied 
to  them  by  the  President,  and  It  very  often  happens 
*  Alexander  Agassiz,  of  the  Class  of  1855. 


NATURAL  HISTORY  SOCIETY        21 

that  members  neglect  this  duty,  so  that  sometimes, 
when  there  ought  to  be  four  papers  every  meeting, 
there  are  only  three,  two,  &  sometimes  only  one. 
This  was  unfortunately  the  case  that  even'g. 
There  was  only  one  paper,  but  that  was  luckily  on 
Geology,  on  the  "Mauvaises  Terres";  &  after  it 
was  concluded  I  expressed  my  regret  at  there  being 
so  few  performances,  but  said  that  the  society 
would  feel  highly  honored  if  Professor  Agassiz 
would  favor  it  with  any  remarks  on  any  subject 
that  he  might  feel  inclined.  So  taking  up  the  sub- 
ject of  "Mauvaises  Terres"  he  told  us  all  about 
them,  drew  diagrams  on  the  blackboard  &  spoke 
about  twenty  minutes  in  the  most  interesting 
style.  After  the  meeting  was  over  I  showed  him 
our  collection,  &  he  expressed  himself  greatly 
pleased  &  said  he  should  certainly  come  again  & 
bring  with  him  Dr.  Leidy's  report  on  these  "Bad 
Lands."  Not  only  was  it  exceedingly  pleasant  to 
have  him  there,  but  it  will  prove  the  greatest  bene- 
fit to  the  society.  All  the  members  who  were 
present  were  perfectly  delighted  with  the  meeting 
&  were  terribly  chagrined  that  there  were  no  more 
papers,  so  that  we  could  not  make  a  better  show 
before  the  distinguished  guest,  a  feeling  which  the 
Professor's  presence  only  could  have  caused;  all 
the  members  who  were  absent  were  disappointed 
at  not  being  present  &  I've  no  doubt,  secretly 
vowed  never  to  miss  another  meeting.  So  you  see 
it  has  given  the  society  a  grand  start  at  the  very 
beginning  of  the  term. 


22         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

The  third  &  best  reason  why  I  have  passed  a 
pleasant  week  was  yesterday.  It  was  a  splendid 
day,  and  at  ten  o'clock  we  started  with  Professor 
Agassiz  to  walk  over  to  Roxbury  to  make  geo- 
logical examinations  of  the  Pudding  Stone  there. 
There  were  about  forty  of  us,  mostly  scientific 
students,  however,  yet  that  was  another  cause  of 
pleasure.  For  these  scientifics  are  a  most  stupid 
set  &  there  has  been  a  great  complaint,  on  former 
occasions,  that  these  sumphs  have  monopolised 
the  Professor,  asking  him  the  most  stupid  ques- 
tions; for  instance,  one  of  them  yesterday  asked 
him  the  difTerence  between  a  boulder  and  a  pudding 
stone.  I  was  accordingly  determined  that  when 
I  went,  it  should  not  be  so.  So,  soon  after  we 
started  I  ousted  one  of  his  scientific  bodyguard  & 
kept  my  position  by  his  side  during  the  rest  of  the 
walk  &  it  was  a  walk  of  six  miles.  We  reached 
Roxbury  at  about  twelve  o'clock,  &  examined  the 
Pudding  Stone  to  our  satisfaction;  while  there  one 
of  the  scientifics  capped  the  climax  of  stupidity  by 
bringing  Professor  Agassiz  a  piece  of  an  old  clinker 
&  wanted  to  know  what  singular  mineral  it  was. 
When  told  that  it  was  a  piece  of  old  coal  he 
dropped  it  as  though  it  had  been  a  live  one.  We 
rode  into  Boston  In  the  omnibus,  went  to  Parker's, 
that  is  four  of  us,  &  had  a  capital  dinner,  to  which 
Blight  ^  treated.    We  reached  Cambridge  at  about 

'  Atherton  Blight,  of  Philadelphia,  with  whom  H.  H.  F.  roomed 
during  his  last  three  years  at  Harvard.  Always  a  dear  and  devoted 
friend  for  whom  H.  H.  F.  had  a  deep  affection,  and  owing  to  whose 
generosity  he  was  able  to  make  the  extended  European  trip  in  1854- 
1856. 


A  NIGHT  HORSEBACK  RIDE         23 

four,  &,  for  my  part,  having  passed  the  pleasantest 
day  this  term.  .  .  . 

So  adoo. 

Yrs.  H. 

To  his  Family 

Cambridge,  October  l6,  1 853 
And  so,  my  dear  Father,  Nan's  desoleCy  is  she, 
because  she  hasn't  written  to  me?  Well,  I  should 
think  she  would  be,  decidedly,  if  not  more  so.  Oh, 
the  bage  creature  &  bragian  serpiant!  To  think  of 
the  sweet,  tender  affection,  with  which  I  penned 
that  last  epistle  &  then  in  return  for  it  she  tells 
me  she  is  some  French  thing  or  other,  I  don't 
know  what.  ...  If  Brothers  are  to  be  treated  thus 
at  the  very  outset,  what  will  become  of  them  in 
the  course  of  a  year?  I  might  as  well  at  once  make 
myself  a  demd  moist  uncomfortable  body.  .  .  . 

I  went  into  Boston  yesterday  afternoon  and 
returned  to  Cambridge  too  late  for  tea,  so  I  con- 
tented myself  with  munching  some  crackers, 
building  a  fire,  &  smoking  a  pipe.  At  half-past 
nine  o'clock,  a  classmate,  yhight  Wyeth,  came  in. 
It  was  such  a  glorious  night  that  he  had  invited  me 
to  ride  on  horseback  with  him.  So  off  we  started, 
he  on  a  bay  horse  &  I  on  a  white.  What  a  glori- 
ous night  it  was!  The  moon  was  full  &  shone  as 
bright  as  day,  not  a  cloud  was  to  be  seen.  We 
dashed  up  to  Waltham  at  full  speed,  &  scoured 
the  country  roundabout  on  a  gallop.  I  never  in  all 
my  life  enjoyed  any  ride  so  much  as  this.    The 


24         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

moonlight  was  so  clear  that  the  different  colors  of 
the  autumn  foliage  could  be  distinguished.  When 
we  reached  the  top  of  Wellington  Hill,  at  about 
eleven,  a  mist  was  just  rising  in  the  valley  below. 
Upon  my  word,  it  was  tolerably  pretty.  Our  in- 
tention was  to  get  into  Boston  about  twelve,  take 
a  sound  supper  at  Parker's  and  ride  comfortably 
out  to  Cambridge,  but  just  as  we  were  in  sight  of 
the  lights  on  the  Mill  Dam  we  came  to  a  railroad 
bridge  not  yet  finished;  as  we  couldn't  pass  &  as 
it  would  take  too  long  to  go  around,  we  turned  our 
horses'  heads  homewards  &  reached  Cambridge 
at  half-past  twelve,  purchased  a  couple  of  bottles 
of  ale  at  the  Oyster  Saloon,  &  some  crackers,  came 
to  my  room,  woke  up  Blight  who  was  sleeping 
in  my  chair,  &  we  three  then  dispatched  the  ale 
&  the  crackers,  &  then  retired  to  bed,  it  being 
acknowledged  on  both  sides  that  it  was  the  pleas- 
antest  evening  that  we  had  passed  this  term.  To- 
day I  have  felt  as  fresh  as  ever,  &  were  it  not  for 
the  vivid  recollection,  should  not  be  conscious  that 
during  three  hours  last  night  I  was  dashing  over 
the  country  on  horseback.  .  .  . 

Wednesday  I  suppose  will  bring  letters  from  my 
parent  of  the  sterner  sex  &  from  the  fond  object 
of  me  affections.   Meantime 

Yours 

Horace 


HASTY  PUDDING  CLUB  25 

To  his  Father 

Cambridge,  December  i8,  1853 
I  CAN  scarcely  realise,  vay  dear  Father,  that  this 
is  only  a  week  before  Christmas  &  that  I  am 
sitting  here  with  my  windows  open  &  with  the 
air  as  balmy  as  a  day  of  May.  Heigho!  it  makes 
me  very  homesick.  I  am  consoled  with  the  thought 
that  in  a  little  more  than  four  weeks  I  shall  be  in 
the  arms  of  a  loved  and  loving  family,  .  .  . 

I  anxiously  expected  the  silk  stockings  till  the 
last  moment,  but  as  they  didn't  come  I  bought 
the  longest  pair  of  cotton  that  I  could  find,  and 
made  my  debut  in  the  dancing  world  as  a  Ballet 
girl  last  Friday  night  [at  the  Hasty  Pudding  Club]. 
For  lack  of  anything  better  to  tell  you  I  will  for 
your  edification  describe  my  dress.  In  the  first 
place,  I  purchased  a  pair  of  satin  slippers,  (perfect 
loves!)  sewed  thereon  two  "pcnk"  rosettes.  I  then 
bought  eight  yards  of  muslin  &  with  the  aid  of 
Wadleigh  in  a  very  short  time  it  was  transformed 
into  a  pair  of  voluminous  drawers  &  three  very 
full  skirts,  reaching  almost  to  my  knees.  This  was 
all  that  I  did  in  the  making  of  my  dress;  the  rest 
was  gotten  up  by  Miss  Sallie  Colburn  &  com- 
prised a  most  charming  penk  boddice  turreted 
round  the  waist,  in  short,  its  toute  ensemble  was 
somehow  thus:  [Here  is  inserted  a  little  sketch  of 
the  costume]  together  with  a  very  full  skirt  of 
white  muslin  trimmed  with  penk  ribbons.  On  my 
head  I  had  a  black  wig  with  a  double  row  of  curls 
&  on  that  a  diminutive  hat  trimmed  with  black  & 


26         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

artificial  flowers,  also  the  handiwork  of  Miss  C. 
When  the  curtain  drew  up  two  fellows  made  their 
appearance  at  the  back  of  the  stage,  with  white 
waistcoats  &  cravats,  &  walked  solemnly  down  to 
the  front  with  Jew's-harps  in  their  hands  &,  seated 
on  opposite  sides  of  the  stage,  after  tuning  their 
instruments  struck  up  a  popular  air,  by  way  of 
overture,  &  then  at  a  preconcerted  signal,  as  the 
bill  announced,  Signorita  Phurnessi  made  her 
appearance  &  tripped  down  to  the  footlights  amid 
peals  upon  peals  of  the  most  tremendous,  deafen- 
ing, &  prolonged  applause.  Everything  that  she 
did,  from  her  languishing  &  unvarying  smile  down 
to  her  walking  on  the  points  of  her  toes,  brought 
down  the  house  &  at  the  close  she  was  vociferously 
encored.  It  was  a  great  hit.  It  occurred  to  me  that 
if  you  desire  it  I  would  try  to  bring  the  dress  home 
and  would  persuade  the  signorita  sometime  or 
other  to  favor  you  with  a  pas  seul. 

For  mercy  sake,  keep  hush  about  this  or  my 
character  for  dignity  and  sedateness  would  be 
forever  blasted.  .  .  . 

In  the  words  of  gentle  Chaucer  "there  n'is  ne 
more  to  say."  Of  course  love  pressed  down  and 
overflowing  to  Mother  and  Annis  and  to  thae  gude 
folk  next  door. 

Good-bye,  my  dear  Father. 

'  Yours 

Horace 


JAMES  SAVAGE,  JR.  27 

To  his  Family 

Cambridge,  January  I,  1854 

A  HAPPY  New  Year  to  you  all,  my  dear  Father,  & 
Mother,  and  Annis,  which  I  've  no  doubt  a  large 
portion  of  it  will  be  from  the  present  prospects  of 
it.^  Gude  save  us!  how  soon  I  shall  see  you!  A 
fortnight  from  Wednesday  I  shall  start  for  home, 
the  eighteenth  of  January,  stop  a  forenoon  in  New 
York  to  view  with  critic's  eye  the  Crystal  Palace, 
&  reach  Philadelphia  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  eve'g, 
when  I  hope  to  shake  hands  with  you  all.  This 
week,  as  you  must  have  heard,  we  have  had  a 
stunning  snowstorm.  All  the  snow  I  ever  saw  in 
my  life  put  together  wouldn't  make  the  half  of 
what  is  now  on  the  ground.  ...  I  had  a  present 
last  Monday  which  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  men- 
tion to  you.  Lockhart's  "Life  of  Scott,"  hand- 
somely bound  in  one  volume  was  left  on  my  table, 
"For  Signorita  Phurnessi  from  J.  Savage,  Jr.,"  ' 

*  Referring  to  the  marriage  of  Annis  Lee  Furness  to  Dr.  Caspar 
Wister  of  Philadelpliia  which  was  planned  for  the  spring.  It  took 
place  in  June,  1854. 

*  James  Savage,  Jr.,  of  Boston,  Lieutenant-Colonel,  Second  Reg- 
iment, Massachusetts  Volunteers,  died  of  wounds  received  in  the 
battle  of  Cedar  Mountain,  August  9,  1862. 

Savage,  together  with  Wilder  Dwight,  '53,  also  a  friend  and  com- 
panion of  H.  H.  F.'s,  were  leaders  in  organizing  the  regiment  which 
was  afterwards  recognized  as  the  Second  Massachusetts  Volunteers. 
In  this  regiment  he  served  gallantly  from  the  beginning  of  the  war, 
being  quickly  promoted  from  Captain  to  Lieutenant-Colonel,  until, 
in  a  spirited  advance,  being  wounded  in  three  places,  he  was  made  a 
prisoner  and  taken  to  the  rear  of  the  enemy  lines,  where,  in  spite  of 
all  medical  aid,  he  died  of  his  wounds  and  of  exhaustion  on  the  2d 
of  October. 

Savage  was  also  with  Athcrton  Blight  and  H.  H.  F.  in  Europe  in 
1854-1856.  and  mention  of  him  will  be  found  in  subsequent  letters. 


28         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

a  present  which  gratified  me  more  than  I  can  tell 
you.  For  Savage's  discrimination  of  character  is 
universally  acknowledged.  And  the  present  case, 
ahem!  affords  conclusive  proof  of  it. 

Recitations  drag  their  weary  length  along. 
Nothing  new  ever  occurs.  Greek  &  Latin  occupy 
a  good  deal  of  my  time.  .  .  .  Oh,  the  other  day  I 
was  quite  amused  at  a  little  incident  which  oc- 
curred to  me  in  the  Bookstore.  Father  Hooper  (so 
called  from  his  having  been  a  Proctor,  time  out  of 
mind,  &  who  is  now  Tutor  in  Greek  while  Pro- 
fessor Felton  is  in  Europe)  came  to  me  &  told 
me  with  a  great  deal  of  palaver  that  Mr.  Sophocles 
had  told  him  that  I  had  an  excellent  pronunciation 
in  Greek,  according  to  the  correct  European  theory. 
This  pronunciation,  it  appears,  the  Father  is  very 
desirous  of  acquiring.  Accordingly  he  asked  me 
to  do  him  the  favor  to  come  sometime  to  his 
room  &  read  Greek  to  him  that  he  might  acquire 
from  me  the  style  in  which  the  bird  of  Maeonian 
Song  was  wont  to  "receete"  his  epos.  Of  course  I 
was  only  too  "grattered  &  flatified,"  and  "only 
too  happy,"  &  all  sorts  of  bowing,  blushing;  se- 
riously, I  was  gratified  to  have  Mr.  S.  say  so  of 
me,  for  it  is  really  a  thing  on  which  I  have  spent 
no  little  pains.  .  .  . 

There,  Good-bye  now. 

Yours 

Horace 


DINNER  WITH  MR.  EMERSON       29 

To  his  Family 

Cambridge,  May  7,  1854 

Last  Saturday,  as  you  know,  I  was  to  spend  at 
Concord.  Mr.  Emerson  ^  had  invited  Bancroft, 
Lowell,  &  Sanborn  (a  Junior)  to  come  up  at  the 
same  time  &  had  also  advised  us  to  come  in  the 
twelve  o'clock  train  from  Boston.  Accordingly 
L.,  S.,  &  myself  went  up  to  Porter's  at  twelve  to 
wait  for  the  train;  it  soon  came  whizzing  by  &  we 
jumped  in  without  asking  any  questions.  When  we 
came  to  pay  the  conductor,  "How  much  is  it  to 
Concord?"  "We  don't  go  to  Concord,  Sir,  this  is 
the  Lexington  train,"  our  jaws  fell  as  we  exchanged 
glances.  The  twelve  o'clock  train  had  been  dis- 
continued. There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to 
make  the  best  of  it  &  go  on  to  Lexington  and 
then  walk  over  from  Lexington  to  Concord,  six 
miles.  This  we  accordingly  did.  We  reached  Lex- 
ington at  12.30  &  Mr.  Emerson  at  a  quarter  past 
two,  which,  considering  that  his  dinner  hour  was 
one,  was  somewhat  late.  However,  he  had  dis- 
covered his  mistake  with  regard  to  the  trains  & 
had  waited  dinner  for  us.  Seldom,  if  ever,  have  I 
passed  a  plcasanter  afternoon.  The  cheerfulness 
inside  atoned  for  the  dreariness  without;  the  tem- 
perature had  fallen  below  freezing  point.  It  was 
refreshing  &  delicious  to  hear  him  (Mr.  E.)  talk 
about  Father.    Altogether  his  manners  won   me 

^  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.  W.  H.  Furness,  the  elder,  and  Mr. 
Emerson  were  close  friends  from  their  earliest  boyhood  days.  A  col- 
lection of  their  letters  was  published  by  H.  H.  F.  in  1910 —  "Records 
of  a  Lifelong  Friendship."  (Houghton  Mifflin  Company.) 


30         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

completely.  He  almost  Insisted  that  I  should 
come  very  soon  again  with  my  valise  &  spend 
Saturday  &  Sunday  with  him.  We  left  there  at 
6.30  to  go  in  a  6.45  train  which  Mr.  E.  said  left  at 
that  time.  When  we  reached  the  depot  we  asked 
the  ticket-master  at  what  time  the  next  train 
started.  "Ten  o'clock,  Sir!"  We  all  three  fell 
a-laughing  for  about  five  minutes.  To  cut  a  long 
story  short,  Lowell  &  Sanborn  concluded  to  walk 
to  Cambridge  —  fourteen  miles  —  &  I  determined 
to  go  to  the  tavern,  buy  some  cigars,  &  meditate 
there  until  half-past  eight,  at  which  time  the  man 
said  that  there  was  the  merest  chance  that  the 
train  might  come  along.  I  parted  with  Lowell  & 
S.  &  went  to  the  tavern  and  passed  two  dismal 
hours  in  a  barroom  without  any  fire  in  it;  that  is  to 
say  the  time  would  have  been  dismal  to  any  one 
else,  but  I  rather  enjoyed  it.  At  8.30  I  sallied  forth 
&  had  not  gone  ten  steps  before  I  heard  the  car 
whistle.  You'd  better  believe  I  ran.  I  reached  the 
cars  just  as  they  were  starting  off,  jumped  on,  was 
set  down  at  Porter's  at  nine,  &  was  snugly  fixed  in 
my  own  room  before  a  cosy  fire  at  a  quarter  past. 
Poor  L.  &  S.  didn't  reach  Cambridge  till  eleven. 
Thus  terminated  the  eventful  day,  A  pleasanter 
I  have  not  passed  in  this  term. 
Pray  let  me  hear  soon  again. 

Yours 

Horace  ^ 


THE  ANTHONY  BURNS  AFFAIR      31 

To  his  Father 

Cambridge,  May  28,  1854^ 
.  .  .  My  blood  has  been  boiling  &  my  chief  en- 
deavors yesterday  were  to  keep  cool,  for  wh.  pur- 
pose I  was  all  day  long  humming  "From  Green- 

^  This  letter  and  the  one  following  refer  to  the  disturbances  in 
Boston  arising  from  the  seizure,  trial,  and  return  of  Anthony  Burns, 
under  the  Kansas-Nebraska  Act,  which  had  just  passed  on  the  23d 
of  May,  1854,  setting  aside  the  Missouri  Compromise.  This  unfortu- 
nate negro  had  escaped  from  his  owner  in  Virginia,  and  had,  by  the  aid 
of  the  Underground  Railroad,  reached  Boston  when,  on  the  24th  of 
May,  he  was  arrested  under  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  and  taken  to 
the  Boston  Court-House  to  be  held  under  an  armed  guard  for  a  hearing. 
News  of  his  arrest  was  known  to  all  Boston  the  next  day,  and  the  ex- 
citement that  this  intelligence  created  was  widespread  and  intense. 
In  the  afternoon  (of  the  25th)  there  was  a  fiery  gathering  in  Meio- 
nian  Hall  where  many  were  in  favour  of  an  immediate  attack  upon 
the  Court-House  for  the  rescue  of  the  fugitive,  but  it  was  not  until  the 
evening,  when  an  immense  meeting  was  held  in  Faneuil  Hall,  that  any 
move  was  taken.  Here,  after  Wendell  Phillips,  Theodore  Parker, 
George  R.  Russell,  and  other  prominent  Abolitionists  had  voiced  their 
indignation,  a  large  part  of  those  present,  headed  by  T.  W.  Higgin- 
son,  Seth  Webb,  Jr.,  and  Lewis  Hayden,  rushed  to  the  Court-House 
where  they  found  an  assault  upon  the  western  door  already  in  prog- 
ress. But  the  door  was  well  guarded,  and,  although  the  attack  lacked 
nothing  in  spirit  and  the  door  was  battered  in,  the  few  who  gained 
entrance  were  quickly  driven  out  by  the  armed  marshal-guard  who 
stood  within.  When  one  of  these  guards  was  accidentally  killed,  the 
assault  fell  back.  The  attempted  rescue  was  a  failure. 

The  following  day  Burns  was  tried  before  Commissioner  Loring,  and 
it  was  ordered  that  the  fugitive  should  be  surrendered  to  his  claimant 
and  to  the  horrors  of  recapture.  On  the  2d  of  June,  guarded  by  a 
large  armed  police  and  military  force,  the  negro  was  marched  through 
the  streets  of  Boston  to  the  revenue  cutter  ordered  by  President  Pierce 
to  take  him  to  Virginia.  The  march  through  the  streets  was  the  "fu- 
neral" referred  to  in  the  second  of  these  letters. 

We  have  included  these  two  letters  not  only  for  the  vivid  and  ab- 
sorbing descriptions  of  the  events,  but  also  to  show  with  what  in- 
tense hatred  Horace  Howard  Furness,  even  in  his  college  days,  looked 
upon  Slavery,  and  how  fervently  he  supported  the  cause  of  the  negro. 
Nor  is  this  feeling  surprising:  with  his  father  standing  at  the  very 
head  of  the  Abolitionists  of  Pennsylvania,  to  have  felt  otherwise  would 
have  been  to  deny  his  parentage. 


32         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

land's  icy  mountains,"  getting  no  further  than  the 
first  line.  When  I  went  by  the  Court-House  in 
Boston  yesterday,  the  Cadets  were  marching 
around  it  to  break  the  crowd  wh.  was  very  great, 
&  just  as  they  came  near  where  I  was  standing 
hootings  and  hissings  arose  on  all  sides,  together 
with  the  cry  of  "the  Governor's  babies!"  It  did 
me  good  &  I  chuckled  immensely,  but  not  con- 
tent with  a  passive  demonstration  of  my  pleasure 
I  clenched  my  teeth  &  pronounced  the  sibilant 
letter  in  our  alphabet  with  considerable  vigor, 
which  was  by  no  means  diminished  by  the  sight 
of  some  of  my  own  classmates  among  their  num- 
ber. The  particulars  of  the  whole  case  you  will 
know  before  this  letter  reaches  you,  by  telegraphic 
despatches  in  the  newspapers,  so  that  anything  I 
can  tell  you  about  it  (&  it  would  be  precious 
little)  would  be  stale  by  Tuesday.  About  twenty- 
five  of  our  class  went  in  this  morning  to  hear 
Mr.  Theodore  Parker  preach.  If  they  went  with 
hearts  open  to  conviction,  one  might  take  en- 
couragement from  such  a  demonstration,  but  I 
fear  they  were  prompted  solely  by  idle  curiosity. 
However,  some  good  seed  may  be  sown,  &  though 
they  go  to  laugh  they  may  stay  to  pray.  There 
is  the  greatest  excitement  throughout  College.  I 
had  no  idea  that  anything  could  so  arouse  sluggish 
student  nature.  For  myself,  I've  knocked  off  all 
discussion  &  all  my  self-control  is  needed  to  force 
myself  to  hold  my  tongue. 

The  Chapel  bell  is  ringing  &  my  time  is  up.  Next 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  LIBERTY         33 

week  comes  the  May  Recess  &  my  next  letter  will 
consequently  be  full  of  it. 
Me  love  to  ye  all,  m'dears. 

Yours 

Horace 

To  his  Father 

Cambridge,  June  4,  1854 
I  don't  know,  my  dear  Father,  how  to  begin  this 
letter,  or  what  to  say  first.  You  know  what  sub- 
ject is  uppermost  in  my  mind,  &  probably  have 
some  conception  of  what  my  feelings  are.  The 
facts  that  have  transpired  during  the  past  week 
you  already  know  through  the  papers,  I  can  add 
but  little.  I  went  into  Boston  on  Friday  to  see 
the  "Funeral"  as  it  was  called,  &  returned  in  an 
excited  state  of  mind  &  with  a  raging  headache,  & 
with  a  voice  hoarse  with  groaning  &  hissing.  How- 
ever, ril  tell  you  how  I  passed  the  day.  In  the 
morn'g  by  nine  o'clock  I  was  in  the  Court  Square 
&  found  it  somewhat  crowded,  police  guarding 
the  entrance  to  the  Court-House.  After  searching 
in  vain  for  some  place  from  which  I  could  view 
the  whole  scene,  finally  we  (Potter,  Starr,  &  my- 
self) determined  to  try  our  luck  in  the  "Common- 
wealth Building"  at  the  corner  of  State  &  Wash- 
ington Streets.  By  strange  good  fortune  we  found 
an  empty  room  in  the  third  story,  &  from  that 
room  we  saw  the  whole  proceeding.  At  about 
eleven  the  "Lancers"  rode  full  gallop  down  the 
street,   effectually   breaking   the   crowd;   as   they 


34         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

passed,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  heard  the 
howls  of  an  enraged  populace.  It  was  horrible, 
and  so  loud  were  the  groans  &  hisses  &  cries  of 
"Shame!"  &  "Bloodhounds!"  that  the  clattering 
of  the  horses'  hoofs  was  almost  inaudible.  The 
instant  that  they  had  passed,  some  men,  right 
underneath  our  window,  lifted  up  a  black  coffin 
with  "Liberty"  on  it.  It  was  received  with  clap- 
ping of  hands  &  cheers.  Then  it  was  that  I 
thought  I  should  see  a  man  torn  to  pieces  by  the 
mob,  for  one  bold  Irishman  rushed  up  to  it  & 
struck  it  a  heavy  blow  with  his  fist;  it  toppled 
over,  but  was  instantly  raised  again  &  the  mob 
rushed  at  the  man;  the  fellow  ran  for  his  life,  the 
crowd  after  him  plucking  at  him  in  the  most  blood- 
thirsty style;  the  police  finally  came  to  his  rescue 
&  protected  him,  but  a  man  more  thoroughly 
frightened  I  never  saw,  he  was  whiter  than  this 
paper.  The  coffin  was  subsequently  suspended 
from  a  window  in  the  very  room  where  we  were. 
The  man  who  superintended  this  operation  I  after- 
wards observed  very  busy  in  one  corner  of  the 
room,  pouring  some  red  stuff  into  little  loose  paper 
parcels.  I  went  up  to  him  &  asked  what  that 
was  for.  "Well,"  said  he,  "some  folks  are  in  favor 
of  the  Thompsonian  practice  and  I  want  to  see 
whether  the  soldiers  down  below  belong  to  that 
class."  The  red  stuff  was  Cayenne  pepper.  At 
about  twelve  o'clock  the  street  beginning  near  Mr. 
Lothrop's  house  was  cleared  by  the  police;  not  a 
man  was  allowed  to  remain;  a  most  singular  effect; 


THE  LAST  OF  ANTHONY  BURNS      35 

not  a  creature  to  be  seen  in  the  street  at  noonday. 
From  that  time  till  near  two  they  were  occupied 
in  stationing  soldiers  in  every  single  street,  alley, 
or  court  that  led  into  State  Street.  In  fact  a  rescue 
would  have  been  perfectly  impossible.  At  aboutr 
two  the  procession  came  by,  the  "Lancers"  first, 
then  four  or  five  hundred  United  States  troops, 
&  then  a  hollow  square,  of  policemen  three  deep, 
with  drawn  swords,  &  poor  Anthony  Burns  in 
the  centre  with  four  or  five  keepers  around  him. 
The  hissings,  hootings,  &  groanings  were  deafen- 
ing. My  friend  of  the  Cayenne  pepper  threw  his 
missiles  many  of  which  took  effect  on  the  heads, 
shoulders,  &  backs  of  the  police;  in  spite  of  the 
horror  of  the  scene  I  couldn't  help  laughing;  hand- 
kerchiefs were  instantly  in  demand  &  the  police 
&  deputy  marshals  were  seized  with  irrepressible 
fits  of  sneezing.  The  procession  passed  &  I  saw 
the  last  of  poor  Burns.  The  effect  of  the  whole 
proceeding  has  been  &  will  be  productive  of  the 
very  best  consequences.  Everybody  is  turning 
Abolitionist.  The  voice  of  the  people  on  that  day 
was  unmistakable.  This  morning  I  heard  Mr. 
Parker;  the  sermon  as  fine  as  the  congregation, 
which  was  at  least  four  thousand. 

I  could  write  passages  more,  but  my  time  is  up 
&  I  shall  so  soon  see  you  that  I  can  easily  reserve 
the  rest  till  then. 

Yours  TT 

Horace 

Many  thanks  for  the  "Pennsylvania  Freeman." 
Were  the  Boston  papers  acceptable.'' 


CHAPTER  II 

YEARS  OF  TRAVEL 

1854-1856 

Upon  receiving  his  degree  from  Harvard  in  June, 
1854,  Furness  returned  to  Philadelphia  from  Cam- 
bridge somewhat  concerned  for  the  future  and 
doubtful  of  what  vocation  he  would  follow.  His 
strongest  inclination  at  that  time  seemed  to  be 
towards  some  position  connected  with  Harvard, 
either  as  an  instructor  in  the  College  or  as  a  libra- 
rian at  the  Law  School;  in  either  case  he  would 
have  ample  opportunity  to  broaden  his  education 
on  any  line  of  study  to  which  he  might  eventually 
turn.  Such  a  position  was  to  a  certain  extent  dis- 
tasteful, however,  since  it  required  further  absence 
from  Philadelphia  and  separation  from  his  family 
for  an  indefinite  time.  In  the  circumstances,  there- 
fore, an  invitation  from  Atherton  Blight,  his  room- 
mate and  devoted  friend  at  Cambridge,  to  accom- 
pany him  to  Europe  proved  most  welcome.  The 
journey,  as  Blight  suggested,  was  to  be  not  wholly 
for  pleasure;  in  their  plans  they  included  a  number 
of  months  in  both  France  and  Germany  where, 
living  simply  and  quietly,  they  might  acquire 
thorough  knowledge  of  the  languages.  After  that 
England,  Spain,  Italy,  and  perhaps  the  Orient,  were 
to  be  visited,  where,  as  Furness  said,  they  in- 
tended to  "slay  all  the  lions." 


EUROPEAN  TRIP  37 

Such  a  trip  could  not  fail  to  be  tempting,  inas- 
much as  it  combined  pleasure  —  and  European 
travel  was  a  rare  pleasure  to  Americans  in  the 
middle  of  the  last  century  —  with  a  distinct  addi- 
tion to  his  education.  Furness  was  not  yet  twenty- 
one;  at  this  time  the  vexing  question  of  the  future 
could  be  deferred  a  year  or  so,  and  though  he  did 
not  anticipate  leaving  his  family  with  anything 
but  regret,  the  manifold  advantages  to  be  gained 
from  the  journey  outweighed  all  objections.  He 
accepted  Atherton  Blight's  offer,  and  together 
they  sailed  from  Boston  early  in  October,  1854. 

The  letters  that  make  up  this  chapter  are  se- 
lected from  those  Furness  wrote  to  his  family  dur- 
ing this  two-year  journey;  selected  indeed  from  a 
voluminous  and  detailed  series,  written  practically 
in  the  form  of  a  daily  record.  Much  of  this,  per- 
force, is  here  omitted;  a  host  of  detail,  of  interest 
at  the  time  to  his  mother  and  father,  would  prove 
tedious  reading  to-day.  All  that  is  left  is  the  thread 
of  correspondence  upon  which  are  strung  such  in- 
cidents or  such  descriptions  that  are  of  permanent 
interest,  and  a  few  paragraphs  characteristic  of 
Furness's  daily  occupations  when  settled  or  of  his 
enthusiasm  on  the  road.  And  throughout  this  en- 
tire correspondence  from  abroad  there  is  a  vast 
amount  that  is  refreshing  on  account  of  the  keen 
appreciation  of  every  detail.  No  lovely  scene,  no 
odd  turn  of  foreign  character,  no  sight  of  some 
world-famous  spot  but  is  here  reflected  and  en- 
joyed to  the  last  measure;  nor  is  there  any  hard- 


38         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

ship  of  travel,  any  annoying  hitch  in  well-laid  plans, 
that  is  not  treated  with  rare  good-humour  and 
passed  over  with  a  laugh. 

Landing  in  Liverpool  after  a  fortnight  on  the 
steamer  America,  Furness  and  Blight  went  to  Lon- 
don, where  the  first  of  these  letters  is  dated.  After 
a  week  in  London,  and  two  weeks  in  Paris,  they 
planned  to  proceed  to  Munich,  which  was  the  city 
selected  for  their  winter  quarters.  The  choice  fell 
to  Munich  partly  because  it  was  possible  to  live 
there  economically  and  studiously,  but  mainly 
because  Furness's  elder  brother,  William  Henry 
Furness,  Jr.,  had  settled  there  in  an  atelier  to 
spend  the  winter  painting  and  studying  art.  Here 
in  congenial  circumstances  the  young  Phlladelphi- 
ans  believed  that  they  could  gain  a  satisfactory 
knowledge  of  the  German  language  and  literature 
during  the  winter  months.  Plans  for  the  spring 
and  summer  of  1855  were  left  undecided;  the  win- 
ter would  probably  crystallize  whatever  tentative 
arrangements  they  had  made. 

To  his  Family 

London!  October  26,  '54 

Please  observe  where  this  is  dated  from.  Can  you 
realise  It.''  If  you  can  it  is  more  than  I  can  do.  .  .  . 
Our  journey  to  London  was  delightful,  although 
the  weather  was  quite  foggy.  It  cleared  off  some- 
what during  the  morn'g,  revealing  to  us  glimpses 
of  the  most  exquisite  English  cottages  on  the  most 
splendid  English  lawns  —  so  that  although  the 


LONDON  39 

journey  Is  about  six  hours,  we  were  none  of  us 
tired.  As  for  London,  to  attempt  to  describe  its 
immense  size  would  be  perfectly  silly.  .  .  .  This 
morning  we  all  strolled  out  to  go  to  the  bankers. 
We  went  up  Pall  Mall,  the  Strand  &  Fleet  Street 
&  passed  under  Temple  Bar.  Hevings!  I  had  to 
shut  my  eyes  &  pinch  my  legs  &  bite  my  lips  to  be 
convinced  that  I  was  not  dreaming.  And  really 
I'm  not  quite  convinced  of  it  now.  We  loafed  by 
the  Horse  Guards,  the  Marlborough  House  & 
Trafalgar  Square.  But  St.  James's  Palace  has  come 
nearest  to  thoroughly  convincing  me  that  I  am  in 
England.  I  can't  tell  what  it  is  in  particular,  it 
is  only  the  general  effect.  A  turret  &  tower  here 
and  a  tower  &  turret  there,  just  where  you  least 
expect  it,  which,  added  to  the  soldiery  on  guard 
all  around  it,  gives  it  the  most  feudal  appearance 
imaginable.  .  .  . 

On  Monday  we  leave  for  Paris,  stay  there  for  a 
week,  leave  the  next  Monday,  pass  that  and  Tues- 
day in  Strasbourg,  &  then  reach  Munich  &  the  arms 
of  my  beloved  brother  on  Wednesday,  November 
8th.  But 

Good-night 

Yours  H. 

To  his  Family 

Munich,  November  20,  '54 

Dear  Father  &  Mother  &:  Annis,  &  all  of  them 
&  all  of  them  —  centuries  untold  seemed  to  have 
passed,  not  since  I  left  home  only,  but  since  I  last 


40         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS  j 

wrote.   I  seem  to  have  grown  old  &  grey,  &  feel  as  | 

though  I  had  already  seen  all  Europe.    However,  I 

this  is  the  business  part  of  my  letter  &  I  must  re-  \ 

serve  sentiment  &  poetry  for  the  tapering  off.  ... 

.  .  .  The  ride  to  that  city  [Strasbourg]  was  per- 
fectly great,  right  through  the  claret  and  cham-  , 
pagne  countries,  mountains  on  both  sides  of  the  ' 
road  covered  with  vineyards  to  the  very  summit          i 
.  .  .  By  way  of  a  dinner  at  Chateau  Thierry  we  got 
a  bottle  of  the  claret  that  had  been  made  from 
those   selfsame  vineyards.  .  .  .  We  got  to   Stras-  ' 
bourg  that  eve'g  &  found  excellent  rooms  at  the 
"Maison  Rouge."   Strasbourg,  you  know,  is  noth-  ' 
ing  but  an  immense  garrison  with  a  cathedral  in 
the  middle  of  it,  &  with  every  house  (as  far  as  ; 
geese  are  concerned)  supplied  with  the  requisites          ; 
for  making  "pate  de  foie  gras."  .  .  .  The  next  day          | 
we  went  to  the  cathedral.   Heavens,  what  a  place          ; 
it  is!  The  steeple  is  the  highest  thing  that  has  been 
raised  upon  this  earth  by  mortal  hands,  higher 
even  than  the  pyramids.   Up  we  went,  &  oh!  such 
a  dizzy  height,  &  oh!  such  a  glorious  view.    Way 
off  in  the  distance  we  could  see  —  just  imagine  it 
—  the  Black  Forest.    I  wonder  I  didn't  lose  my          | 
senses  on  the  spot.  ... 

.  .  .  The  next  morning  we  started  for  Stuttgardt; 
at  Kehl  I  telegraphed  William  telling  him  that  I  J 

should  spend  a  night  in  Stuttgardt  &  reach  Munich 
the  next  day.  ...  j 

,  .  .  The  day  was  cold  &  cheerless  &  I  was  the  ' 

sole  second-class  passenger,  so  that  it  was  dismal  ; 


ARRIVAL  AT  MUNICH      '         41 

enough.  At  Goepingen  I  saw,  oh,  Hevings!  an 
Alp.  The  so-called  Rauhe  Alp  —  whew!  what  a 
sight  it  was.  On  one  side  of  the  road  three  high 
mountains  with  ruins  of  old  feudal  castles  on  the 
summits,  &  on  the  other  a  deep  valley,  and  at  the 
bottom  a  little  stream,  &  then  across  the  stream 
rose  the  glorious  Rauhe  Alp.  If  American  autaitm 
foliage  could  only  be  transferred  to  those  moun- 
tains, it  would  be  a  sight  that  angels  only  ought 
to  look  upon.   Whew!  Whew! 

Will  was  not  at  the  depot.  For  which  I  was  not 
sorry,  for  he  would  have  felt  bound  to  take  care  of 
my  baggage  &  all  that  sort  of  thing  &  it  was 
much  better  that  I  should  do  that  myself,  so  I 
drove  very  comfortably  to  the  Bayerischer  Hof, 
took  capital  rooms  for  Blight  &  Savage,^  and  then 
got  into  a  "fiacre"  (heathen  for  dirty  cab)  &  drove 
round  to  Will's  lodgings,  rang  the  bell,  &  Will 
came  rushing  five  steps  at  a  time  downstairs,  & 
then  took  place  that  scene  which  Father  with  true 
prophetic  hand  so  admirably  portrayed.  After  we 
had  ceased  from  sheer  exhaustion  to  hug  &  grin 
over  each  other's  shoulders,  I  saw  before  me  as 
my  brother,  the  following  object:  [a  thumbnail 
caricature  is  here  inserted.]  Ah,  well,  it  do  look 
like,  and  "there's  no  deniging  of  it,  I^ord  forbid!" 
I  then  made  Will  get  into  the  cab  &  drive  back  to 
the  hotel  with  me  —  &  of  all  the  quantity  I  had 
to  tell  him  the  only  item  that  I  could  possibly 

*  James  Savage  joined  thein  in  Paris.  A  footnote  concerning  him 
will  be  found  in  the  preceding  chapter. 


42         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

think  of,  was  that  two  kittens  had  been  left  in 
our  cellar  window!!  However,  we  at  last  found  our 
tongues  &  made  a  night  of  it.  I  made  him  stay 
that  night  at  the  hotel  &  share  my  room.  Didn't  we 
talk  even  after  we  were  in  bed  &  the  lights  put  out! 

The  next  day  I  spent  with  Will  gaping  into  shop 
windows  &  looking  about  me.  My  first  impression, 
which  experience  has  since  confirmed,  was  that 
Munich  is  a  most  gorgeous  place.  Will  had  not 
been  long  here  &  had  hardly  got  settled  &  at  work. 
But  he  is  now  working  vigorously  &  is  in  capital 
spirits.  He  has  not  a  single  one  of  his  pictures 
here,  so  I  can  tell  you  nothing  about  them.  The 
only  productions  of  his  pencil  that  I  have  seen 
are  his  anatomical  studies.  By  George!  they  are 
splendid. 

Dear  Father,  when  you  write  please  address  me 
individually,  otherwise  William  with  his  well- 
known  rapacity  will  seize  &  claim  the  letter.  Of-a- 
course  I  send  the  devotion  of  my  heart  &  soul  to 
my  sister  &  her  spouse. 

-  Yours 

Horace  H.  Furness 

To  his  Family 

Munchen,  December,  '54 
Dear  Father  &  Mother  &  Annis:  .  .  .  Will, 
sometime  ago,  told  Professor  Wertheim  that  he 
would  be  glad  to  take  the  likeness  of  any  one  who 
would  consider  the  portrait  a  sufficient  recompense 
for   sitting.    Accordingly   the   Professor    immedi- 


A  GERMAN  DINNER  43 

ately  brought  to  him  a  young  Karl  Bayer,  son  of 
a  gentleman  very  widely  known  here  in  Miinchen. 
Will,  by  the  way,  is  going  to  get  a  most  excellent 
likeness,  but  that  is  nothing  to  the  point,  which  is 
that  last  Sunday  Mr.  Bayer  invited  Will  and  my- 
self to  dinner.  It  was  immensely  interesting.  My 
mouth  was  so  wide  open  with  astonishment  at  the 
queer  dodges  which  the  whole  family  came,  that  it 
interfered  with  the  proper  mastication  of  my  vic- 
tuals. For  instance,  the  young  ladies,  his  daughters, 
about  seventeen  &  eighteen  years  old,  waited  on 
the  table,  one  didn't  even  sit  down  at  all,  &  the 
other  only  periodically;  there  were  no  dishes  of 
meat  or  vegetables  whatsoever  placed  upon  the 
table.  Everything  was  handed  around,  &  the  meat 
&  the  vegetables  were  on  the  same  dish.  We  drank 
various  healths,  "Absent  friends  &  relations," 
"America,"  &  the  like,  and  we  all  had  to  rise  and 
clink  our  glasses.  By  way  of  dessert  we  had  some 
condiment,  which  we  had  to  eat  with  our  knives. 
I  rather  held  from  performing  the  operation,  until 
I  saw  the  Mistress  of  the  house  thrust  her  knife 
nearly  down  her  throat  &  then  I  went  at  it.  .  .  . 
The  sacrifices  which  I  have  at  present  to  oifer 
up  on  the  altar  of  fraternal  affection  are  tremendous 
drains  upon  my  time.  Yesterday,  for  instance,  I 
stood  to  Will  for  three  mortal  hours;  and  that  he 
gave  me  to  understand  was  but  a  small  foretaste 
of  my  future  agonies.^    Will  seems  to  enjoy  him- 

'  This  refers  to  the  full-length  portrait  of  H.  H.  F.  which  his  brother 
was  painting  at  this  time.  It  is  reproduced  as  the  frontispiece  to 
vol.  II. 


44         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

self  and  his  profession  immensely;  he  is  as  happy 
as  the  day  is  long  &  fully  as  industrious.  I  never 
saw  him  work  with  such  diligence.  The  infantile 
"busy  bee"  is  a  perfect  fool  to  him.  He  has  two 
or  three  charming  little  models  &  at  times  grows 
perfectly  savage  with  delight.  .  .  .  Everything  here 
in  Munich  seems  to  be  arranged  in  a  simple- 
hearted,  primitive  fashion;  the  hour  for  breakfast 
is  nine,  dinner  one,  &  tea  at  six.  The  opera  &  all 
the  concerts  begin  quite  punctually  at  half-past 
six,  &  end  about  nine.  Two  or  three  times  I 
have  got  out  of  the  opera  at  a  quarter  before 
nine.  .  .  . 

My  love  to  all  who  ask  after  me.  Will  sends  as 
much  love  as  you  can  receive  &  I  send  more. 

Horace 

This  uneventful  life  in  Munich  progressed  at 
even  pace  from  week  to  week,  with  little  occurring 
to  disturb  their  daily  studies  of  German  or  their 
nightly  visits  to  the  opera  or  to  the  theatre.  Many 
of  the  impressions  made  upon  Furness  during 
these  months  lasted  through  life;  certainly  his 
appreciation  of  German  literature  was  built  upon 
all  that  he  read  or  experienced  in  Munich  at  this 
time,  and  his  love  of  music,  already  keen,  was  more 
firmly  established.  The  details  of  these  six  quiet 
months  in  Bavaria  must  unfortunately  be  sacri- 
ficed for  the  important  letters  telling  of  their  ac- 
tivity upon  the  road,  so  the  paragraphs  that  fol- 
low, written  after  a  short  holiday  in  Paris,  must  be 
the  last  glimpse  of  Furness  in  Munich. 


LIFE  IN  MUNICH  45 

To  his  Family 

Munich,  April  2,  1855 

Dearest  Father,  Mother,  &  Annis,  once  more 
we  are  settled  comfortably  in  Theresien  Strasse, 
after  our  week  of  jollification  in  Paris.  My  last 
letter  was  dated  from  Stuttgardt,  that  charm- 
ingest  of  little  towns.  It  is  the  holiest  ground  that 
I  have  seen  yet  in  Germany.  Schiller,  you  know, 
lived  there  so  many  years,  &  in  the  square  in  which 
he  was  particularly  fond  of  walking,  there  is  a  fine 
colossal  bronze  statue  of  him.  We  took  a  little 
stroll  through  the  town,  —  you  can  see  the  whole 
of  it  in  an  hour,  —  &  the  people  appeared  happier, 
better  dressed,  and  better  looking  than  anywheres 
else  that  I  have  been.  The  next  morning  we  left 
for  Munich  &  reached  our  destination  in  the  after- 
noon. All  seemed  glad  to  see  us  and  Will  I  found 
hard  at  work  in  his  atelier.  That  eve'g  there  was 
a  great  concert,  at  which  was  exhibited  for  the  first 
time  the  bronze  statue  of  Beethoven  which  has 
been  made  here,  for  the  Music  Hall  in  Boston.  .  .  . 
...  I  have  nothing  in  the  world  to  write  about. 
I  live  the  quietest  life  imaginable.  I  get  up  every 
morning  at  half-past  six  and  breakfast  at  half-past 
seven,  read  all  day  long  till  I  go  round  to  Will's 
room  at  half-past  four  or  five,  talk  with  him  & 
see  how  he  is  getting  along  or  chat  bad  German 
with  his  little  model  if  she's  there.  Then  we  go  to 
dinner,  and  after  dinner  I  prance  about  for  an 
hour  or  so  by  way  of  a  constitutional,  &  then  Will 
usually  spends  his  eve'g  with  us  &  we  chat  and 


46         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

read,  while  sometimes  Jim  plays  on  the  piano,  till  we 
break  up  for  the  night.  "  Und  so  fliegen  unsere  Tage." 
The  only  earthly  thing  of  interest  that  has  oc- 
curred this  week  has  been  a  bow  that  I  gave  to 
the  old  King  Ludwig  &  one  that  I  received  from 
him  in  return.  Fortunately  the  old  gentleman  has 
entirely  recovered  from  his  late  dangerous  illness 
&  returned  to  Munich.  I  was  walking  along  the 
streets  &  saw  a  rather  seedy-looking  old  gentle- 
man coming  towards  me  &  noticed  that  a  lady 
&  gentleman  in  front  of  me  immediately  stepped 
aside,  the  lady  making  a  most  profound  curtsey 
&  the  Herr  a  correspondingly  low  bow;  the  old 
gentleman  returned  the  compliment  by  taking  off 
his  hat  also.  I  instantly  concluded  that  it  was  King 
Ludwig,  &  followed  the  example  of  my  predeces- 
sors, stepped  aside,  stood  still,  &  took  off  my  hat, 
very  low,  indeed;  he  returned  my  delicate  atten- 
tion by  waving  his  hat  &  then  passed  on. 

If  you  are  anxious  to  know  how  royalty  looks  I 
can  only  tell  you  that  in  this  specimen  it  was  very 
scrubby;  the  coat  the  King  had  on  wasn't  half  as 
good  as  mine  &  I  have  worn  mine  three  winters;  his 
hair,  which  was  rather  sparse,  wasn't  a  bit  nicely 
'  combed  &  was  flying  all  about  his  head,  &  he  has 
a  lump  the  size  of  a  hazelnut  right  in  the  middle 
of  his  forehead,  &  he  walks  along  with  his  eyes 
cast  on  the  ground  (except  when  he  sees  a  pretty 
girl  coming)  &  takes  steps  a  yard  &  a  quarter  apart. 
Sech  was  majesty,  a  thing  which  the  Americans, 
poor  fools,  refused,  refused  with  scorn! 


BERLIN,  DRESDEN,  AND  VIENNA    47 

But  I  must  stop  &  give  Will  a  chance.  Please 
give  my  love  to  the  very  same  dear  friends  that  I 
enumerated  in  my  last  letter,  and  believe  me 

Yours 

Horace 

Towards  the  end  of  May,  Furness  and  Blight 
had  been  able  to  "pad  around  with  flesh  and  fat" 
the  skeleton  of  their  plan  for  the  summer,  and 
amid  the  tears  of  their  landlady  and  the  regrets  of 
their  Munich  friends  they  left  for  Leipsic,  Weimar, 
and  Berlin.  In  the  Prussian  capital  they  spent  a 
fortnight  visiting  the  palaces  and  picture  galleries, 
listening  to  the  operas  and  concerts,  and  in  fact 
thoroughly  absorbing  all  the  pleasures  of  Berlin. 
Thence  they  went  to  Dresden  where  they  were 
joined  by  James  Savage.  These  three  together 
visited  Saxon  Switzerland  on  foot,  passed  into 
Austria  and  reached  Vienna,  "that  hotbed,  as  I 
have  always  been  led  to  believe,  of  everything  that 
is  despotic  &  tyrannical  in  government  &  blun- 
dering in  political  economy.  Yet  nothing  would 
indicate  such  a  state  of  affairs  from  external  ap- 
pearances. The  people  look  contented  &  happy, 
the  shops  are  brilliant  &  life  seems  full  of  activity 
&  bustle,  &  the  cabs  drive  fearfully  fast,  and  as 
there  is  no  sidewalk  very  definitely  laid  down  a 
heedless  foot  passenger  runs  an  imminent  risk  of 
having  his  toes  mashed.  .  .  ." 

They  left  Vienna  early  in  July,  1855,  for  Zurich. 
This  part  of  their  travels  —  a  large  measure  of  the 
journey  was  done  on  foot  —  was  one  of  unalloyed 
pleasure.  Every  scene,  every  view,  every  incident 
is  described  in  Furness's  letters  with  vividness  and 


48         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

enthusiasm.  So  fresh,  indeed,  does  all  this  appear 
after  sixty-five  years  that  this  same  freshness 
sorely  tempts  us  to  reprint  many  paragraphs  relat- 
ing to  the  Danube  and  the  salt  mines,  the  rugged 
alpine  paths,  and  the  quaint  villages  and  villagers 
they  came  across  on  this  trip.  Yet  as  a  whole  this 
journey  was  not  remarkable;  given  like  oppor- 
tunities any  one  possessed  with  ease  of  description 
could  reproduce  to-day  these  pages,  and,  though 
Furness  always  remembered  the  places  and  the 
people  visited  in  these  weeks,  they  cannot  be  said 
to  have  left  any  imprint  on  his  life,  nor  do  they 
give  us  a  keener  perception  of  his  character.  For 
these  reasons  only  this  scant  insertion  about  Vienna 
is  made  of  the  weeks  that  intervened  between 
Austria  in  July  and  Paris  in  November,  so  that 
the  continuity  of  the  year's  advances  may  not  be 
lost. 

In  Zurich,  Furness,  Savage,  and  Blight  remained 
a  week,  and  then  by  easy  stages  set  out  for  Paris 
where  they  planned  to  remain  for  some  months 
studying  French.  But  upon  arriving  in  Paris  they 
found  their  plans  upset  by  unhappy  news:  word 
reached  Atherton  Blight  that  his  sister,  long  an 
invalid,  had  died  in  America,  and  so  his  family,  who 
had  intended  paying  him  a  visit  when  Furness  and 
he  were  settled  in  Paris,  could  not  leave  Philadel- 
phia for  five  or  six  months.  They  suggested  that 
in  the  meantime  the  two  young  men  should  make 
a  trip  through  Spain  and  the  Near  East  and  return 
to  Paris  in  the  early  summer  where  Blight  might 
join  his  family.  Although  Furness  was  naturally 
reluctant  to  relinquish  the  opportunity  of  studying 
French,  consideration  for  his  friend,  combined  with 


PARIS  49 

the  desire  for  a  trip  so  unusual  and  so  valuable, 
made  him  decide  it  was  the  better  course  to  take. 


To  his  Family 

Paris,  November  29,  1855 
This  time,  dear  darlings,  my  letter  must  be  really 
short.  In  a  few  hours  we  start  for  Bordeaux,  en 
route  for  Madrid;  we  reach  the  former  place  to- 
morrow morn'g,  stay  there  a  day  &  leave  the 
next  for  Bayonne  (of  Bayonet  memory),  remain 
quiet  Sunday  &  leave  early  Monday  morning  for 
Madrid,  travel  three  days  in  the  Diligence,  and  on 
Wednesday  eve'g  receive  the  embrace  of  Dwight 
&  be  ravished  by  the  sound  of  the  castanet  beat- 
ing time  to  bounding  feet.  Ah !  was  there  ever  any- 
thing so  sublime  as  the  idea,  &  its  realization,  of 
going  to  Spain!  It  makes  me  perfectly  wild  when 
I  think  of  it.  I'm  afraid  that  I  shall  be  wofully 
disappointed  if  we  are  not  robbed.  It  is  exces- 
sively provoking  that  robberies  seldom  or  never 
take  place  nowadays.  From  Madrid  we  go  to 
Seville,  then  Cadiz,  Gibraltar,  &  so  on  round  the 
coast  to  Marseilles.  It's  an  excellent  route,  em- 
bracing all  that  is  worth  seeing. 

During  the  past  week  Paris  has  been  gay  enough 
&  we  quiet  enough.  Both  my  inclination  &  con- 
sideration for  A.'s  feelings  keep  me  perfectly  still. 
We  read,  talk,  walk,  &  eat.  The  King  of  Sardinia 
has  been  here  &  all  Paris  is  fluttering  with  flags. 
The  day  before  yesterday  we  went  to  a  grand 
review  held  on  the  Champs  de  Mars.   By  ignoring 


so         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

the  existence  of  sentinels  we  marched  boldly,  as  If 
we  had  a  right,  into  the  Ecole  Militaire  &  got  an 
excellent  position  at  one  of  the  windows.  It  was 
one  of  the  finest  sights  I  ever  beheld.  The  day  was 
splendid,  &  the  sunlight  danced  &  flickered  &  was 
reflected  from  thousands  of  helmets  &  bayonets. 
At  one  o'clock  rank  &  file  were  all  drawn  up  and 
motionless  as  statues.  Then  the  Emperor  comes  & 
the  banners  wave  &  the  eagles  o'er  him  bending  — 
the  bands  immediately  struck  up  "Partant  pour 
la  Syrie,"  &  the  Emperor  rode  down  one  column  & 
up  another  managing  his  horse  magnificently  & 
looking  every  inch  an  Emperor;  by  his  side  rode 
the  King  of  Sardinia  looking  conscious,  pleased, 
&  insignificant.  A  cavalcade  of  officers  followed 
&  then  came  a  barouche  containing  the  Empress  & 
her  Maid  of  Honor.  She  looked  paler  than  when 
I  last  saw  her,  but  still  exquisitely  beautiful.  As  I 
looked  on  those  forty  thousand  troops  &  reflected 
how  much  Washington  accomplished  with  barely 
half  that  number,  I  ceased  wondering  that  Napo- 
leon HI  sits  so  firmly  on  his  throne.  Growing  rather 
fatigues  and  tired,  we  descended  to  the  courtyard  & 
waited  a  few  minutes  till  the  barouche  containing 
the  Empress  drove  In.  We  were  only  five  or  six  feet 
from  her  when  she  alighted  &  so  had  a  perfectly 
satisfactory  stare.  She  got  down  just  like  any  other 
person;  I've  seen  women  get  out  of  an  omnibus  In 
the  same  way;  and  she  blows  her  nose  just  like 
Sally  Twig.  The  Maid  of  Honor  tripped  In  rich 
green  velvet  that  was  spread  for  Her  iVlajesty  & 


THE  EMPEROR  AND  EMPRESS       51 

herself  to  protect  their  dainty  little  feet  from  the 
cold  marble  steps,  &  came  nigh  falling,  but  recov- 
ered herself  &  laughing  sweetly — oh!  so  sweetly — 
tore  after  the  Empress,  two  steps  at  a  time.  As  we 
were  returning  we  reached  the  Place  de  la  Concorde 
just  as  the  Emperor  &  the  cavalcade  rode  past  on 
their  way  home.  So  we  had  another  excellent  view 
of  them,  &  reached  home  hungry  and  tired,  but 
deeming  ourselves  as  excessively  lucky.  This  has 
been  the  only  event  of  the  week. 

I  shall  write  again  next  Sunday  &  shall  continue 
to  do  so  every  Sunday  for  the  future;  but  whether 
you  receive  my  letters  as  regularly  is  another  ques- 
tion, so  don't  be  worried  if  you  don't  hear  from  me 
for  three  or  four  weeks.  My  best  love  to  all. 
Heaven  guard  you  all 
dear  ones 

Yours  ever 

Horace 

To  his  Family 

Madrid,  Dec.  Sth,  1855 
We  all  went  to  bed  pretty  early  Sunday  eve'g,  in 
preparation  for  the  ordeal  through  wh.  we  were 
so  soon  to  pass.  The  next  morn'g  early,  at  four 
o'clock,  pitch  dark,  the  clumsy  lumbering  Basque 
servant  awakened  us  &  we  hurried  as  fast  as  possi- 
ble to  be  in  time  for  the  Diligence  which  left  at  five. 
It  was  dark,  chilly,  &  raining,  but  youth  was  at  the 
prow  &  pleasure  at  the  helm  so  we  didn't  care  a 
fig  but  ensconced  ourselves,  a  cold  roast  chicken, 


52         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

bread  &  a  bottle  of  wine  snugly  in  the  coupe  of  the 
Diligence,  which  was  to  be  our  home  for  several 
days,  &  left  Bayonne  on  a  full  gallop.  Here  then 
was  a  prospect  for  us,  thrown  entirely  on  our  re- 
sources, for  although  we  had  books  we  found  that 
reading  hurt  our  eyes,  we  were  to  keep  up  our  good 
spirits,  good-humor  &  health  for  certainly  three 
days  &  three  nights  &  perhaps  an  indefinite  period, 
for  before  we  left  Bayonne  there  were  vague  &  dark 
hints  of  being  blocked  up  in  snowbanks.  However 
we  joked,  quizzed  &  sang  till  we  reached  the  fron- 
tier town,  Irun;  here  our  luggage  was  examined  & 
passed  without  any  comment.  Back  to  the  dili- 
gence &  away  we  rattled,  up  hill  &  down  dale,  find- 
ing excitement  every  three  or  four  hours  in  the 
relays  of  horses  &  speculating  on  the  various  char- 
acters of  the  drivers  from  the  style  in  which  they 
beat  the  poor  animals.  We  dined  at  our  first  Span- 
ish town,  San  Sebastian,  on  the  Bay  of  Biscay-o!  & 
tasted  our  first  puchero  —  wh.  is  boiled  beef  buried 
In  gigantic  boiled  peas.  After  leaving  San  Sebas- 
tian we  began  to  cross  the  Pyrenees,  more  exciting 
than  one  would  suppose,  for  having  the  coupe, 
here  called  the  berliner,  we  could  look  right  out 
upon  the  horses,  &  as  there  were  usually  ten  or 
twelve,  sometimes  fourteen  &  a  pair  of  oxen,  they 
were  constant  sources  of  interest  to  us;  &  then  the 
driving  —  I  never  heard,  saw  or  read  of  anything 
like  it.  We  would  go  uphill  on  a  trot  &  down  hill 
on  a  tearing  gallop;  the  lumbering,  unwieldy  Dili- 
gence would  fly  along  as  though  on  a  race-course  & 


A  SPANISH  DILIGENCE  53 

woe,  unutterable  woe,  betide  any  poor  luckless 
mule  or  horse  that  should  happen  to  stumble  & 
fall  on  this  Devil-catch-the-hindmost  pace  —  or 
rather  Driver-catch-the-hindmost  pace.  This  hap- 
pened once  or  twice  to  our  great  distress;  once  one 
of  the  leaders,  as  we  were  whirling  down  hill, 
stumbled  &  fell,  tripping  up  the  one  behind  him, 
&  these  two  tripping  up  a  third,  all  three  in  a  jum- 
bled mass  kicking  &  struggling  were  dragged  along 
for  a  moment  by  the  rest  before  the  Diligence 
could  be  stopped  &  for  a  second  or  two  we  were  in 
great  danger  of  either  upsetting  or  of  mashing  all 
three  poor  animals  into  one  indistinguishable  mass; 
when  at  last  they  were  disengaged  from  their 
harness  &  the  unfortunate  cause  of  all  the  trouble 
arose  gashed  &  bleeding,  his  bruised  sides  were 
belabored  by  butt  end  of  the  driver's  whip  till  the 
arm  of  the  latter  was  exhausted.  Such  pleasing  lit- 
tle incidents  served  to  ward  off  ennui  throughout 
the  journey  &  we  drove  bravely  on  till  night  began 
to  close  in  around  us  &  large  flakes  of  snow  floated 
slowly  down.  One  by  one  we  dropt  off  to  sleep  & 
still  the  Diligence  thundered  on.  About  one  o'clock 
at  night  we  all  happened  to  find  ourselves  awake  & 
bethought  ourselves  of  our  chicken.  We  immedi- 
ately proceeded  to  discuss  it.  I,  sitting  in  the  mid- 
dle, tore  it  to  bits  &  distributed  it  as  impartially  aa 
I  could  in  the  dark;  it  was  pronounced  capital  & 
the  wine  &  bread  were  also  duly  appreciated.  Up- 
ham  &  myself  then  smoked  a  social  cigar  &  we 
gradually  fell  asleep  again  till  towards  dawn  we 


54         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

were  awakened  by  the  most  fiendish  sounds  that 
ever  fell  on  my  ears.  We  peered  out  into  the  grey 
light  &  found  that  we  had  gotten  fast  stuck  In  a 
deep  rut,  in  ascending  a  steep  mountain.  The  fear- 
ful sounds  proceeded  from  some  four  or  five  drivers 
who  were  endeavoring  in  perfectly  good  &  gram- 
matical Basque  to  encourage  as  many  pair  of  oxen 
to  show  their  pluck  &  extricate  us  bravely  from  our 
predicament.  But  in  vain  did  the  oxen  strain  every 
nerve  &  in  vain  did  the  drivers  goad  them  &  howl 
"Elthar"  into  their  ears;  budge  the  Diligence 
would  not;  nay,  it  even  showed  signs  of  backing 
down  the  mountain  &  over  a  steep  bank  to  certain 
destruction,  whereupon  Blight  &  Upham  precipi- 
tately dismounted  &  I  followed.  Whew!  what  a 
dreary  scene  met  our  gaze,  perfectly  hemmed  in  by 
the  lofty  Pyrenees,  many  of  whose  snowcapped 
summits  were  barely  discernible  in  the  gray  dawn, 
not  a  human  habitation  to  be  seen  &  all  around  us 
the  black  rocks  made  gray  by  the  slight  covering  of 
snow  that  had  fallen  during  the  night.  At  length 
more  oxen  were  procured  &  it  was  only  with  seven 
yoke  of  oxen  that  the  diligence  could  be  so  much  as 
got  stirred.  We  again  took  our  seats  &  descending 
the  mountain  rattled  on  till  we  came  to  Vlttoria; 
here  we  breakfasted  &  I  bought  some  of  the  cele- 
brated Vlttoria  cigars.  Here  we  laid  in  a  stock  of 
provisions,  for  there  was  to  be  no  other  stopping- 
place  for,  Eheu  nos  miseros,  twenty-four  hours. 
The  weather  was  pleasant  enough  &  the  country 
sufficiently  uninteresting,  but  then  everything  be- 


BURGOS  55 

gan  to  look  excessively  Spanish.  We  met  long 
trains  of  sumpter  mules,  their  heads  decorated 
with  gaudy  tassels  &  jingling  bells,  &  the  young 
muleteers  (not  yet  of  Granada)  so  dignified  with 
their  cloaks  slung  over  the  left  shoulders  &  their 
black  sombreros;  now  &  then  we  would  meet  a 
sohtary  horseman,  his  gun  strapped  on  to  his  sad- 
dle bow,  for  robbers,  as  we  afterwards  learned,  are 
not  altogether  legendary.  The  afternoon  waned 
and  dusk  found  us  struggling  over  another  spur  of 
the  Pyrenees.  The  jolting  was  at  times  fearful,  but 
for  all  that  we  slept  soundly  enough,  regahng  our- 
selves again  at  midnight  with  bread,  cold  chicken, 
and  wine.  The  dawn  was  glorious,  the  air  clear  as 
crystal,  &  with  the  moon  &  Venus  retiring  together 
arm  in  arm  from  their  mighty  watch.  Just  as  the 
sun  was  tingeing  the  summits  of  the  hill,  we  came 
in  sight  of  Burgos.  Can  you  believe  it.?  I  couldn't. 
To  think  that  I  was  going  to  enter  the  very  town 
perhaps  by  the  very  gate  &  over  the  same  pave- 
ment, through  whose  streets  the  Cid  led  his  gallant 
Marriage  procession,  with  its  bulls  &  little  boys  & 
the  very  Devil  himself  with  hoofs  &  horns  to  terrify 
the  ladies,  &  last  of  all  his  bride,  the  fair  but  foolish 
Ximenes.  Why  didn't  I  learn  every  one  of  Lock- 
hart's  ballads  by  heart  when  I  read  them  years  ago 
as  a  small  hoy^  We  have  used  every  endeavor  to 
procure  a  copy,  but  have  been  unsuccessful.  We 
thundered  into  Burgos  &  had  but  very  little  time 
for  sentimentalism.  Here  we  were  to  have  an 
hour's  rest  so  we  hurried  off  to  the  cathedral.  And 


56         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

here  I'll  stop  &  not  write  another  word  if  you  don't 
all  promise  not  to  consider  what  I  am  about  to  say 
as  snobbish.  For  you  know  I  think  it  sounds  disgust- 
ingly snobbish  to  light  upon  one  particular  thing 
which  comparatively  but  few  travellers  see  &  im- 
mediately proclaim  it  as  infinitely  superior  to  any- 
thing else  that  nearly  every  one  sees  &  admires  in 
the  ordinary  course  of  travel.  Well  do  you  promise 
it.'*  Thank  you  for  your  confidence  in  me.  Now 
then  I  must  confess  to  you  that  I  think  Burgos 
Cathedral  immensely  superior  to  everything  else 
in  the  style  of  a  cathedral  that  I  have  seen  in 
Europe. 

Monday  afternoon 
I  LEFT  off  here  last  night  to  go  to  bed  &  this  after- 
noon I  rec'd  your  dear  letters  of  Nov.  19  Nan's 
Will's  Father's  &  Mother's.  How  can  I  thank  you. 
Let's  have  a  hug  all  around.  Way  off  here  in  Ma- 
drid to  be  brought  so  near  home,  it's  too  splendid. 
But  I'll  particularise  at  the  end  of  my  letter  —  In 
the  meantime,  let's  all  visit  this  gorgeous  Cathe- 
dral of  Burgos.  We  haven't  got  much  time,  so  it 
must  be  only  a  glimpse.  As  we  enter  the  door 
there  is  a  notice  posted  up  to  the  effect  that  no  one 
must  joke  or  laugh  when  approaching  the  sacred 
portal.  And  then  the  doorway!  No  door  to  any 
church  in  Germany  is  so  covered  with  sculptured 
symbols  &  images  of  saints,  saints  too  of  the  most 
graceful  form  &  chiselled  in  the  very  finest  style 
of  Gothic  art.   As  we  entered  the  morning  sun 


ARRIVAL  AT  MADRID  57 

was  just  breaking  in  through  the  stained  glass 
&  illuminating  the  sculptures,  glorified  them  all. 
Every  square  foot  of  the  whole  Cathedral  appeared 
to  be  carved  &  chiselled  into  the  most  exquisite 
forms  of  Gothic  beauty.  The  innumerable  host  of 
exquisite  carvings  and  traceries  it  would  take  a 
year  &  a  day  to  thoroughly  examine.  After  we  had 
left  it,  seeing  it  as  we  did  in  such  a  hurry,  it  left 
upon  our  minds  a  blaze  of  light  &  beauty  un- 
equalled by  any  other  structure  that  we  ever  saw. 
Alas!  that  we  had  to  leave  it  so  soon,  but  go  we 
must  &  so  not  long  after  we  were  thundering  on 
towards  Madrid. 

The  sunset  was  magnificent  &  we  slept  com- 
fortably enough  till  the  dawn  shone  in  upon  our 
home,  the  Berliner.  That  day  we  crossed  the 
Quaderama  mountains  &  rapidly  neared  our  des- 
tination. The  country  was  dull  &  desolate;  not  a 
tree  was  to  be  seen  &  now  and  then  we  passed 
through  dirty,  filthy  villages,  although  the  villagers, 
for  the  most  part  beggars,  had  a  certain  air  of  dig- 
nity about  them  that  was  quite  remarkable;  it 
seemed  as  if  they  considered  themselves  gentlemen, 
if  they  could  only  get  a  piece  of  cloth,  ragged  or  not 
it  little  mattered,  &  sling  it  over  their  left  shoulder. 
We  stopped  at  a  little  place  called  Aranda  de  Duero 
for  supper  &  saw  a  splendid  Catalonian  damsel. 
At  about  half-past  six,  just  after  the  sun  had  set, 
we  could  dimly  discern  the  lights  of  Madrid  twin- 
kling in  the  horizon.  Soon  after  we  rattled  onto  the 
stone  pavements  &  were  ushered  into  one  of  the 


58         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

gayest  &  liveliest  streets  that  I  had  ever  seen  in 
Europe.  The  scene  was  as  gay  as  the  Boulevards 
of  Paris.  The  shops  brilliantly  lighted  &  crowds  of 
well-dressed  men  &  women  passing,  and  repassing; 
the  men,  many  of  them  smoking  cigarillos,  &  the 
women  with,  Oh  Hevings!  the  Spanish  Mantilla. 
We  hadn't  much  time  for  reflection  for  we  soon 
stopped  at  the  Diligence  Office  &  dismounted  & 
left  that  place  that  had  been  our  smoking,  reading, 
eating,  sleeping  room,  In  short  our  home,  for  four 
days  &  three  nights.  I  must  say  I  left  it  with  some 
feelings  of  regret.  We  had  had  an  exceedingly 
pleasant  time  in  it  &  were  not  by  any  means  so 
tired  as  we  had  feared. 

I  met  the  Queen  one  afternoon  &  had  a  good 
look  at  her.  She  appeared  to  be,  as  she  really  Is,  a 
dear  good-natured  sort  of  a  body  &  Inordinately 
fat;  she  is  very  popular  with  the  people,  she  is  so 
benevolent  &  means  so  well;  she'd  forgive  every 
body  everything  &  give  everybody  something,  if 
she  could,  so  they  say. 

We  leave  tomorrow  (Thursday)  for  a  visit  of  a 
day  to  the  Escurial,  shall  return  on  Friday,  &  then 
leave  on  Saturday  morn'g  for  Toledo  —  leave 
there  Monday  morn'g  for  Seville,  which  appears  to 
be  really  after  all  the  city  of  Spain. 

A  most  happy  New  Year  to  you  all. 

Yours 

Horace 


THE  ESCURIAL  59 

To  his  Family 

Toledo,  Dec.  i6,  1855 

Dating  as  I  do  from  Toledo  you  may,  perhaps, 
my  darlings,  expect  a  letter  both  brilliant  &  pun- 
gent, but  having  written  to  you,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
only  yesterday  I  have  very  little  either  racey  or 
cutting  to  say.  The  next  day  after  sending  off  my 
letter  to  you  (Thursday),  we  all  took  the  Diligence 
for  a  ride  of  about  four  hours  to  the  Escurial.  We 
reached  there  late  in  the  afternoon  &  went  to  a,  or 
rather  the  hotel,  where  the  landlady's  two  daugh- 
ters were  of  the  most  crushing  description,  tall, 
graceful,  magnificent  hair,  brilliant  eyes  &  splendid 
brunette  complexion.  Forgive  this  passing  tribute 
to  the  charms  of  the  lovely  Maraquita  &Cayetana! 
The  bright  blaze  of  their  kitchen  fire  warmed  our 
chilled  bodies  &  the  languishing  glances  of  their 
dark  eyes  warmed  our  souls!  After  eating  vile  pu- 
chero  (alas!  that  the  charms  of  Maraquita  did  not 
extend  to  her  cooking!)  we  sent  for  the  guide  of  the 
place  &  an  old  man,  blind  &  with  hair  as  white  as 
snow,  made  his  appearance;  he  had  become  blind 
nigh  thirty  years  ago  from  a  stroke  of  the  sun,  but 
had  learned  to  know  by  heart  all  the  corners,  pil- 
lars &  passages  of  the  immense  building  we  were 
about  to  visit,  &  strange  enough  could  point  out 
the  best  views.  With  old  Cornelio  we  accordingly 
started  out  to  find  Padre  Arevelo,  one  of  the  monks 
to  whom  one  of  the  attaches  of  the  American  le- 
gation in  Madrid  had  given  us  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion.   We  soon  found  the  old  Padre  in  his  cell, 


6o         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

apparently  comfortable  enough,  considering  his 
bachelordom,  smoking  a  cigarette.  He  received  us 
very  kindly,  but  in  so  far  as  he  could  neither  speak 
English  nor  we  French,  we  got  along  rather  lamely 
.  .  .  and  we  hobbled  along  with  a  few  set  phrases 
of  Spanish  when  I  asked  him  if  he  couldn't  speak 
Latin.  The  idea  caught  &  away  we  went  compar- 
atively swimmingly  down  the  stream  of  conver- 
sation, racking  up  all  our  old  Latin  idioms  until 
at  last  we  became  Ciceronian  .  .  .  from  him  we 
learned  the  history  of  the  Escurial,  which,  in  a  few 
words,  is  that  it  was  founded  by  Philip  H  as  a 
Mausoleum  for  the  Royal  family  of  Spain. 

The  next  day  we  went  over  it  —  it  is  an  enor- 
mous mass  of  granite  buildings,  forming  both  a  pal- 
ace and  a  monastery  &  since  it  was  founded  in 
honor  of  St.  Lawrence  it  is  built  in  the  shape  of  a 
gridiron,  the  Royal  Residence  forming  the  handle. 
.  .  .  Our  old  friend,  the  Padre,  took  us  to  the  library 
&  a  fine  place  it  is,  but  where,  it  seemed  to  me,  the 
books  were  dying  a  slow  death;  no  one  to  read  them 
or  at  least  to  make  their  contents  useful  to  the 
world,  there  they  stand  on  their  shelves  from  year's 
end  to  year's  end.  Some  magnificent  illuminated 
MSS.  were  shown  to  us,  some  perfectly  gorgeous,  but 
the  most  interesting  was  a  Missal  that  had  belonged 
to  Isabella  the  Catholic.  .  .  .  After  we  had  seen 
everything  and  were  lunching  preparatory  to  re- 
turning to  Madrid  the  good  old  Padre  came  to  bid 
us  good-bye  (in  Latin).  We  thanked  him  kindly  &  on 
parting  he  gave  me  (quite  a  distinction)  an  old  book 


A  WILD  DRIVE  TO  TOLEDO         6i 

of  Monkish  Latin,  a  sort  of  Breviary.  I  got  him  to 
write  his  name  in  it  &  it  will  be  for  me  an  excellent 
souvenir  of  my  visit.  We  reached  Madrid  in  safety 
&  the  next  day  (Saturday)  started  for  this  place. 
We  went  on  the  railroad  through  Aranjuez  to  a 
wretched  little  place  called  Villasequillas;  here  we 
had  to  wait  some  two  mortal  hours  till  the  arrival 
of  a  still  more  wretched  diligence,  into  which  we 
scrambled  &  proceeded  immediately  on  our  way 
rejoicing.  Our  companions  were  two  hideous  old 
women  &  a  little  girl.  Our  rejoicing  was  of  short 
duration  &  soon  changed  to  anxiety;  for  the  road 
was  horrible  &  the  ruts  fearful.  In  that  Diligence 
we  sat  or  rather  clung  five  horridly  uncomfortable 
hours  during  the  whole  distance  of  about  fifteen 
miles,  expecting  every  moment  to  upset,  first  on 
one  side  &  then  on  another.  Once  we  were  driven 
deliberately  down  a  steep  bank  at  least  seven  feet 
high  and  nearly  perpendicular,  right  into  a  stream 
so  deep  that  the  water  oozed  through  the  bottom  of 
the  waggon.  One  of  the  old  women  clung  to  D  wight's 
arm  like  a  vampire  &  shrieked  "Madre  mia  "  &  con- 
tinued saying  her  prayers  until  we  were  safe  on  the 
opposite  bank.  At  one  time  we  drove  through  a 
swamp,  with  no  sign  of  a  road  either  before  or  be- 
hind us,  for  after  we  had  passed  the  mud  &  slime 
closed  together  again,  &  left  scarcely  any  traces  of 
the  wheels  or  horses'  feet.  However,  at  last  we  saw 
the  bright  beams  of  the  moon  reflected  from  the 
shining  rooves  of  Toledo  &  we  dragged  our  long 
length  of  mules  and  diligence  slowly  up  the  hill  & 


62         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

through  the  Moorish  gateway  &  into  the  winding 
narrow  streets  of  this  old  town  whose  hand,  unlike 
thatof  Nuremburghas  gone  with  unfriendly  efficacy 
through  every  land. 

This  morning  the  sun  was  shining  brightly  on 
the  spire  of  the  fine  old  Cathedral  as  we  entered 
its  magnificent  doorway.  Of  course  I  couldn't 
so  describe  it  as  to  give  you  any  adequate  idea 
of  its  magnificence.  Its  exterior  is  not  so  fine 
as  that  of  Burgos,  but  the  interior  is  much  richer. 
In  short,  just  multiply  your  ideas  of  Gothic  arch- 
itecture, its  grotesqueness,  its  rich  traceries,  its 
grace,  everything  that  makes  it  Gothic  &  there- 
fore makes  it  superior  to  all  other  architecture, 
I  say  multiply  all  this  by  the  wildest  stretch 
of  your  imagination  &  you  begin  to  have  a  faint 
idea  of  the  stupendous  structure.  .  .  .  But  I  must 
stop.  Tomorrow  we  leave  for  Seville.  From  which 
city  my  next  letter  will  be  dated.  My  best  love  to 
all.    Good-bye,  dear  ones. 

Heaven  keep  us  all! 

H.  H.  F. 

From  Seville  Furness  and  Blight,  by  this  time 
hardened  to  discomforts  of  the  diligence,  pushed 
on  to  Cadiz:  "passing  by  fields  white  with  daisies 
&  long  hedges  of  cacti  &  aloes,  now  &  then  a  group 
of  slender  palms  nodding  their  tuft  of  plumes  at 
each  other  &  at  us  as  we  gallopped  by.  We  saw  the 
red  roofs  &  white  walls  of  a  little  village  in  the  dis- 
tance, &  the  fields  all  around  covered  with  vine- 
yards, &  as  we  looked  we  gazed  upon  the  home  of 


FROM  SPAIN  TO  CAIRO  63 

sherry  wine,  the  far-famed  village  of  Xeres.  ..." 
In  Cadiz  they  were  held  up  for  a  week  by  a  ter- 
rific storm  that  raged  all  along  the  coast,  closed  the 
harbor  of  Cadiz,  and  prevented  the  sailing  of  the 
Gibraltar  steamer.  Here  again  we  are  forced  to 
omit  Furness's  description  of  the  incidents  of  the 
month  passed  in  travelling  from  Gibraltar  to  Cairo, 
which  included  Tangiers,  the  Alhambra,  Granada, 
Malaga,  Marseilles,  and  Malta.  And  we  again 
pick  up  the  thread  of  the  narration  at  Cairo  when 
they  are  setting  out  —  now  a  party  of  six  —  for 
Palestine  and  the  Holy  Land. 

In  the  following  paragraphs,  extracts  from  a 
single  letter-diary  of  forty  closely  written  pages,  the 
most  striking  incidents  are  left;  from  Jaffa  to  Bey- 
rout  the  only  mode  of  travel  was  horseback  through 
deserts  and  mountains  where  squalid  Arab  villages 
or  Bedouin  encampments  were  the  only  marks  of 
civilization,  save  for  the  larger  towns;  hence  tents, 
bedding,  and  provisions  had  to  accompany  the 
travellers  all  the  way.  Furness  enjoyed  this  rough 
life  immensely,  and  as  will  be  seen,  nothing  could 
dampen  his  spirits  or  lessen  his  keen  enjoyment  of 
all  the  new  sights. 

If  dates  appear  to  be  lost  in  the  extracts  that 
follow,  it  is  of  small  moment;  suffice  it  that  the 
party  left  Cairo  on  February  27,  1856,  and  arrived 
at  Beyrout  about  April  ist. 

To  his  Family 

Cairo,  Feb.  27th,  1856 

Oh,  you  dearest  dearest  darlings,  how  can  I  thank 

you  sufficiently  for  the  splendid  letters  that  I  got 

a  day  or  two  ago  in  Alexandria!   How  I  read  & 


64         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

re-read  them,  backwards  &  forwards  &  down  the 
middle  &  up  again.  I  have  felt  like  a  new  man  ever 
since  &  am  no  longer  the  perfect  Ishmael  that  I  was 
beginning  to  believe  myself  to  be.  And  now  for  an 
apology  for  the  brevity  of  this  little  scrawl.  Don't 
think  that  I  have  by  any  means  neglected  you.  You 
will  be  In  the  end  the  gainers,  or  perhaps  the  suffer- 
ers, by  it,  for  the  next  letter  that  you  receive  will 
be  a  very  long  one.  It  will  contain  flowery  &  ex- 
quisite descriptions  of  the  Alhambra,  the  return  to 
Malaga,  our  third  visit  to  Gibraltar,  our  sail  to 
Malta  (of  the  Maltese  cat  species)  our  sail  to  Alex- 
andria, our  railroad  ride  to  Cairo  (ha!  ha!  ha!)  our 
donkey  rides,  our  visits  to  the  Pyramids,  Sakara, 
Memphis,  tombs  of  the  Memlook  Kings,  Maham- 
med  Ali,  the  Caliphs  &  It  will  wind  up  with  a  grand 
flourish  about  Turkish  Bazaars!  There!  hadn't  you 
rather  have  such  a  fearful  dose  as  that  all  at  once 
&  have  It  over  than  to  receive  It  by  driblets.''  In 
Malta  we  met  four  quite  pleasant  Americans  Mr. 
Jewett  of  Buffalo  who  has  been  travelling  with  Mr. 
Fillmore,  a  young  fellow  named  Corning  from  New 
York  &  two  Presbyterian  clergymen,  Mr.  Bullions 
from  Albany,  &  a  Mr.  Huntington,  from  New  York; 
the  last  two  are  not  much  like  ministers  of  that 
ilk  except  as  far  as  gentlemanlyness  Is  concerned. 
With  them  we  came  to  Alexandria;  they  were  on 
their  way  to  Palestine  &  were  very  desirous  that 
we  should  join  their  party,  which  Blight  at  last 
determined  to  do.  So  that  at  present  our  plans  are 
to  leave  here  tomorrow  &  take  the  Austrian  steamer 


THE  PYRAMIDS  65 

on  Friday  morning  from  Alexandria  for  Jaffa  the 
port  of  Jerusalem,  get  to  J.  in  two  days,  then  from 
thence,  after  tarrying  in  the  region  round  about  & 
visiting  the  Dead  Sea  to  journey  to  Damascus  in 
eleven  days,  thro'  Nazareth  &  by  Mt.  Carmel,  from 
Damascus  to  Beyrout  &  thence  to  Smyrna.  From 
Smyrna  we  may  go  to  Constantinople  &  we  may 
not.    As  yet  we  can't  tell. 

But  my  trunks  must  be  off  by  daylight  tomorrow 
&  the  hours  are  waxing  small.  (Ought  it  not  be 
waning  instead  of  waxing  small.'')  &  these  same  so 
truly  named  by  the  Romans  "impedimenta"  are 
not  yet  packed  so  I  must  e'en  stop  &  knowing  how 
inexpressibly  I  love  you  all  &  how  I  hate  a  scene, 
you  will  not  be  offended  if  I  say  simply, 

Good-bye 

Horace 

To  his  Family 

In  my  last  letter,  my  darlings,  I  broke  off  just 
as  we  were  leaving  the  Pyramids,  &  before  I  had 
time  to  say  the  half  of  what  I  wished  to  about 
them.  And  now  that  some  days  have  elapsed  since 
I  saw  them,  I  can  feel  what  a  gigantic  impression 
they  have  left  upon  my  mind.  How  everything 
else  raised  by  human  hands  sinks  into  the  humblest 
insignificance  beside  them!  The  stones  of  which 
they  are  composed  fairly  take  your  breath  away 
by  their  colossal  size.  .  .  .  After  all  the  Sphinx  is 
the  great  attraction.  The  expression  of  the  face 
is  perfectly  godlike  &  then,  when   you    let    your 


66         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

imagination  fill  up  the  whole  scene,  &  luxuriant 
gardens  spring  up  on  every  side  &  this  noble  face 
towering  grandly  above  the  tops  of  the  tallest 
palms,  while  around  its  feet  is  all  the  splendor  of 
a  barbaric  ritual,  —  when  you  think  of  all  this,  why, 
the  thunders  of  Olympian  Jove  subside  into  harm- 
less squibs  &  all  the  gods  and  goddesses  of  Rome 
&  Greece  seem  as  pygmies.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  The  next  day  we  went  to  Alexandria,  slept 
there  one  night  &  the  next  morn'g  embarked  for 
Jaffa.  .  .  .  The  next  day  (Sunday)  at  about  ten  we 
saw  Jaffa  distinctly  on  the  shore.  It  was  our  first 
glimpse  of  Palestine  &  looked  as  I  had  always  im- 
agined Palestine.  The  houses  were  low  &  white- 
washed, with  thick  walls  &  small  grated  windows,  & 
nearly  all  were  flat-roofed  with  a  high  parapet.  .  .  . 
It  was  with  no  small  feelings  of  thankfulness  that  I 
first  stepped  foot  on  the  Holy  Land,  here  at  the 
very  end  of  the  Mediterranean  whose  whole  length 
we  had  thus  crossed  in  safety.  .  .  .  Jaffa  is,  as  you 
know,  the  Joppa  of  the  Bible,  so  the  first  thing  to 
be  seen  is  the  house  where  Peter  saw  the  vision. 
After  winding  through  the  narrow  dirty  streets, 
past  donkies  &  dromedaries,  veiled  Mussulwomen 
&  unveiled  Jewesses,  we  ascended  some  steps 
&  stood  upon  the  housetop  of  one  Simon  a  Tanner 
who  lodged  by  the  seaside.  The  roofs  of  the  houses, 
being  all  flat  as  I  before  mentioned,  it  is  the  custom 
still,  as  it  was  undoubtedly  in  Peter's  time,  for  the 
family  to  sit  there  in  the  cool  of  the  afternoon.  .  .  . 
From  thence  we  took  a  walk  passing  through  the 


JONAH  AND  ANDROMEDA        ^  dj 

Bazaar,  similar  in  style,  but  by  no  means  so  splen- 
did in  quality  as  those  of  Cairo  &  going  through  the 
gate,  guarded  by  two  Egyptian  soldiers,  walked 
along  the  road  till  we  came  to  a  high  bank  over- 
looking a  part  of  the  town  &  the  sea,  with  the  black 
rocks  near  the  shore.  Here  spreading  my  large 
Grenadine  Blanket  on  the  ground  we  all  lay  down 
&  Bullions,  taking  out  a  Bible  &  I  a  sketchbook,  he 
read  about  Jonah  &  I  sketched  these  same  wicked 
looking  rocks  whereon  it  is  said  the  Prophet  was 
ejected  by  the  whale.  I  confess  that  at  times  my 
thoughts  would  wander  from  the  probably  bald 
&  most  certainly  moist,  uncomfortable  looking 
prophet  to  the  lovely  face  &  fair  proportions  of 
Andromeda  &  thought  of  her  sweet  blush  with 
which  she  amply  rewarded  Perseus  for  his  very 
timely  rescue.  For  these  selfsame  rocks  were  also 
the  scene  of  this  piece  of  disinterested  gallantry. 

The  next  morning  we  were  stirring  by  four 
o'clock  &  at  half-past  five  we  were  all  mounted  on 
pretty  good  horses  &  passed  out  of  the  gate,  our 
faces  towards  Jerusalem.  ...  In  two  or  three  hours 
we  reached  Ramlah,  formerly  Arimethea,  where 
Joseph  lived.  It  is  now  a  wretched  Arab  village 
where  the  filth  within  the  houses  vies  with  the  filth 
without. 

.  .  .The  road  soon  became  stony  and  all  signs  of 
cultivation  ceased  &  high  hills  surrounded  us  on 
both  sides,  which  really  seemed  as  though  they 
could  be  nothing  but  huge  piles  of  cobblestones. 
...  I  never  before  saw  such  utter  desolation,  such 


68         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

unmitigated  sterility,  such  perfect  barrenness  in 
the  abstract.  Our  road  at  times  was  the  dried-up 
bed  of  some  mountain  stream,  at  times  a  goat  path 
winding  and  twisting  over  the  endless  hills.  The 
stones  were  all  of  a  very  white  chalky  color,  for 
which  I  accounted  from  the  fact  that  the  land  for- 
merly flowed  with  milk  and  honey.  Dusk  began  to 
close  in  around  us  &  at  last  it  was  so  dark  that  our 
horses  were  left  to  their  own  discretion.  At  last 
after  turning  at  right  angles  we  saw  in  the  darkness 
the  happy  sight  of  the  lights  of  Jerusalem;  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  we  were  riding  along  the  walls 
to  the  Damascus  gate,  for  in  the  dark  we  had 
missed  the  road  leading  to  the  Jaffa  gate  &  so  we 
were  obliged  to  enter  on  the  North  side.  Not  a 
word  was  spoken,  &  I  must  confess  it  was  very 
solemn,  the  high  black  wall  with  its  towers  &  bat- 
tlements frowning  down  upon  us  in  the  darkness. 
The  gates  are  closed  at  sundown,  but  Ibraim  had 
sent  a  man  in  advance  to  order  a  Janissary  to  be 
in  attendance  to  open  them  for  us  when  we  should 
arrive.  We  rode  up  to  the  gate,  Ibraim  pounded 
on  the  heavy  iron  doors,  &  spoke  something  in 
Arabic,  answer  was  returned  from  within,  the  gates 
swung  slowly  open  &  we  all  rode  in.  Simple  as  this 
incident  was,  to  me  it  was  very  impressive,  — 
although  all  my  associations  at  the  time  were  con- 
nected with  modern  Jerusalem,  &  I  thought  of 
Godfrey  of  Boulogne  &  the  Crusades. 

We  rode  in  silence  through  the  dark,  narrow 
streets,  with  low  houses  on  each  side,  &  here  &  there 


JERUSALEM  69 

seeing  a  man  threading  his  way  along  with  a  lan- 
tern that  threw  a  flickering  glare  on  the  houses  as 
he  passed  along.  In  about  ten  minutes  we  reached 
a  doorway  &  dismounting  entered  a  little  courtyard 
&  were  in  the  "English  Hotel."  We  were  immedi- 
ately shown  into  comfortable  rooms  with  nice  clean 
bed  and  iron  bedsteads,  which  looked  indeed  invit- 
ing after  our  fourteen  hours'  ride.  Ablutions  per- 
formed, &  we  sat  down  to  an  excellent  dinner,  and 
after  that  nature's  balmy  came  without  much 
wooing. 

The  next  morn'g  we  took  a  commisionaire  &  went 
out.  Our  hotel  is  in  the  Via  Dolorosa,  so  of  course 
we  walked  through  that  first.  This  is  the  street 
through  which  the  procession  passed  when  Christ 
was  taken  to  Calvary.  Here,  if  I  record  my  feelings 
truly,  I  must  say  that  although  I  knew  that  there 
was  probably  not  a  single  house,  nay  not  even  a 
single  stone,  now  standing  as  it  was  at  that  time,  & 
the  very  road  itself  doubtful,  yet  notwithstanding 
all  this.  It  made  that  whole  sickening  scene  so  real 
&  brought  up  before  me  so  vividly  that  fierce, 
cruel  mob  &  that  suffering,  divine  face,  that  I  felt 
perfectly  sick  at  heart  &  wanted  to  turn  around  &  go 
right  back  to  the  Hotel  &  shut  myself  up  in  a  dark 
room.  Never  in  my  life  have  I  been  so  impressed; 
it  was  a  sensation  so  new  to  me  &  so  unexpected. 
We  approached  the  house  of  Pilate  &  passed  un- 
der a  high  arch  from  which  Christ  crowned  with 
thorns  was  shown  to  the  mob  beneath;  the  "Ecce 
Homo."   The  rest  laughed  at  it  but  I  couldn't  re- 


70         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

strain  a  shudder.  And  here  I  might  as  well  say  be- 
forehand that  I  shall  always  speak  of  these  local- 
ities as  genuine  &  of  the  traditions  as  true.  Where 
a  locality  is  disputed  jl  go  with  tradition  in  default 
of  better  authority.  To  me  it  is  by  far  the  wiser  & 
better  course  to  visit  the  Holy  Land  prepared  to 
believe  its  tradition  &  trust  in  the  localities  already 
sanctioned  by  ages  &  thereby  derive  a  grand  quick- 
ening impulse  to  your  Faith,  rather  than  go  through 
the  country  cavilling  at  everything  and  trusting 
nothing,  &  leaving  Palestine  fifty  times  more  of 
an  ass  than  when  you  entered.  .  .  .  To  me  such 
conduct  is  too  offensively  disgusting.  If  such  wise- 
acres come  to  pull  down  everything,  what  do  they 
get  by  coming  &  why  the  deil  don't  they  stay  at 
home! .  .  . 

The  next  morning  at  about  eight  we  were  all 
on  horseback  &  passed  in  along  cavalcade  out  of 
the  St.  Stephen's  gate.  There  were  seven  horses  & 
as  many  mules  with  our  luggage,  tents,  canteen, 
&c.  &c.  We  descended  to  the  bed  of  the  Kedron  & 
then  winding  around  the  Mt.  of  Olives  took  the 
road  so  often  trod  by  our  Savior  to  Bethany. 

.  .  .  We  were  under  the  guidance  and  protection 
of  some  villainous-looking  Bedouins,  with  gigantic 
pistols  stuck  in  their  belts  &  guns  five  or  six  feet 
long  &  apparently  perfectly  harmless  to  judge  from 
the  state  of  the  locks,  but  which  nevertheless  made 
a  terrible  show.  This  guard  is  considered  necessary 
for  the  road  to  Jericho,  whither  we  were  now  go- 
ing, is  to  this  day  as  in  the  time  of  the  parable 


JORDAN  AND  THE  DEAD  SEA       71 

of  the  good  Samaritan,  noted  for  its  robbers.  .  .  . 
The  day  wore  on.  I  was  always  on  the  lookout  for 
something  I  might  conjure  into  the  shape  of  a 
robber.  But  in  vain;  the  only  human  beings  were 
ragged  Arab  shepherd  boys,  if  indeed  they  can  be 
called  human,  so  nearly  do  they  appear  to  assimi- 
late to  the  brutes  they  tend.  The  road  wound  up 
hill  &  down  dale,  but  invariably  stoney  and  rough, 
when  on  coming  to  the  edge  of  a  hill  we  saw  at  our 
feet  the  valley  of  the  Jordan  &  on  our  right  a  small 
part  of  the  Dead  Sea,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Jordan  were  the  mountains  of  Moab,  and  directly 
in  front  of  us,  Pizgah,  the  mountain  from  whence 
Moses  obtained  his  view  of  the  promised  land. 
We  ourselves  were  riding  through  the  wilderness 
that  was  the  scene  of  the  Lord's  temptation  &  in 
the  color  and  size  of  the  stones  that  were  lying 
everywhere  around  nothing  would  be  more  readily 
suggested  than  loaves  of  bread.  A  neighboring 
mountain  was  the  one  to  which  the  Devil  leadeth 
Him  &  shewed  him  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth. 
For  at  that  time  this  immense  valley  at  our  feet, 
now  so  sterile  and  deserted,  was  blooming  like 
a  garden  &,  with  the  Jordan  winding  like  a  silver 
thread  through  it,  it  must  have  been  a  scene  of 
exquisite  loveliness.  We  descended  gradually  at 
times  losing  and  at  times  regaining  our  glimpse 
of  the  Dead  Sea,  till  at  last  we  were  fairly  in 
Canaan.  .  .  .  We  passed  under  an  old  Saracenic 
aquaduct,  and  a  few  minutes  after  we  could  dis- 
tinguish the  mud  hovels  of  Jericho,  then,  turning 


72         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

a  little,  the  pleasant  sight  of  our  white  tents  met 
our  eyes;  we  rode  up  on  a  furious  gallop.  It  was  a 
most  picturesque  scene;  Hamed  the  cook  had  got- 
ten his  tent  pitched  and  our  dinner  was  already 
simmering  on  the  charcoal  embers,  the  muleteers 
were  busy  picketing  the  horses  &  mules  for  the 
night,  our  valiant  Bedouin  guardsmen  were  in  a 
circle  on  the  ground  lazily  smoking,  while  Abdel 
Malak  was  busy  spreading  the  table  &  making  up 
our  beds  within  the  tents.  In  the  background  was 
a  group  of  dirty  Arab  children,  their  heads  be- 
decked with  strings  of  silver  Turkish  coins  &  their 
little  hands  begrimed  with  dirt  and  henna.  Our 
tent  looked  the  perfection  of  neatness  within  & 
without ...  so  that  'way  off  in  Jericho  we  were  as 
comfortable  as  though  we  were  in  the  Revere 
House.  I  took  a  little  walk  through  Jericho,  with 
Abdel  Malak  who  went  to  buy  some  eggs.  There 
were  not  more  than  twenty-five  houses  in  the 
place,  &  these  were  all  built  of  mud  &  consist  of 
but  one  room,  which  supplies  all  daily  &  nightly 
comforts  to  the  whole  family,  goats,  &  donkeys. 
...  In  fact  filth  &  indolence  was  the  order  of  the 
day,  &  I  came  away  with  the  conviction  that  I 
must  in  future  be  careful  of  uttering  such  Anath- 
ema as  to  wish  a  person  in  Jericho.  .  .  . 

The  next  morn'g  (Monday  ye  17th)  we  left 
Jerusalem  after  the  usual  amount  of  confusion, 
hurry,  &  delay.  Muleteers  quarrelling,  servants 
doing  the  heavy  standing  around  with  mouths 
wreathed  in  smiles  &  watering  for  bakshiesh,  the 


LEAVING  JERUSALEM  73 

landlord  bowing  and  scraping,  supported  by  his 
half  a  good  deal  better  in  size,  with  his  blushing 
little  daughter  lurking  coyly  in  the  background. 
Outside  in  the  street  Ibraim  &  his  minions  fly 
around  like  maniacs  in  his  desire  "to  make  every- 
thing quite  comfortable  for  the  six  gentlemen  al- 
together." Large  bundles  of  white  linen,  answer- 
ing, I  suppose,  in  the  domestic  circle  to  the  name 
of  Fatima,  stopped  their  shuffling  gait  in  the 
ugly  yellow  papooshes  &  stared  at  the  cavalcade 
through  their  dark  cotton  handkerchiefs.  .  .  .  We 
passed  out  the  Damascus  gate,  &  wound  along  to- 
wards the  north,  &  in  a  few  minutes  vanished  the 
last  link  but  that  of  memory  that  bound  us  to  the 
Holy  City.  How  false  that  name  is!  If  there  is  a 
city  on  God's  earth  that  least  deserves  that  epithet, 
it  is  Jerusalem.  Is  there  a  single  deed  that  Jerusa- 
lem as  a  city  has  ever  done  that  is  holy,''  Is  not 
its  history  from  the  time  of  Saul  a  series  of  black 
crimes,  until  the  one  Great  Crime  stands  forth, 
making  all  other  foul  crimes  or  murders  pale  &  in- 
nocent before  it.'*  Ah!  me!  but  a  visit  to  Jerusalem 
is  an  event  in  one's  lifetime.  .  .  . 

The  wind  drove  the  rain  directly  in  our  faces  & 
as  the  road  was  excessively  rough,  hilly,  &  muddy, 
the  day  was  anything  but  comfortable.  My  view 
of  the  surrounding  landscape  was  confined  to  an 
occasional  peep  out  of  the  breathing  hole  I  left  in 
my  blanket.  To  me  the  whole  thing  was  exceed- 
ingly jolly  but  some  of  us  grumbled  furiously  & 
at  last  relinquished  all  efforts  to  keep  dry  &  rode 


74         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

along  as  though  it  were  warm,  genial  sunshine. 
Lunch  was  out  of  the  question,  so  hunger  increased 
our  peevishness  as  the  day  wore  on  &  we  were  still 
a  long  distance  from  Kuhnetra.  Ibraim  proposed 
that  we  should  spend  the  night  in  a  Bedouin  en- 
campment, where  we  should  at  least  be  sure  of  a 
blazing  fire  whereby  we  could  dry  our  clothes.  To 
this  proposition  we  acceded,  &  turning  off  the  main 
road  in  about  an  hour  we  saw  before  us  the  "tents 
of  Kedar"  five  or  six  in  number;  we  rode  up  amid 
a  furious  barking  of  dogs, .  .  .  and  an  old  venerable 
Arab  came  out  of  his  tent  to  see  what  was  the  mat- 
ter; to  him  we  stated  our  piteous  plight,  &  without 
saying  a  word  he  motioned  to  us  to  alight  &  by  a 
wave  of  the  hand  signified  that  all  his  was  ours. 
In  a  minute  we  were  inside  his  tent  &  crying  bit- 
terly. Allow  me  to  be  a  little  statistical  for  your 
edification.  The  tent  into  which  we  entered  was 
about  twelve  or  thirteen  feet  long,  no  it  was 
about  twenty  feet  long,  &  ten  or  twelve  feet  wide, 
and  built  of  bamboo  reeds  about  four  feet  long, 
tied  together  with  bits  of  grass  &  being  placed  on 
end  &  supported  by  stakes  they  form  a  very  good 
though  slightly  airy  &  chinky  wall;  so  much  for 
the  walls  &  now  for  the  roof;  this  is  composed 
of  very  coarse  goat's-hair  cloth,  stretched  across 
arched  willow  saplings,  whose  ends  are  tied  to  the 
opposite  sides  of  the  reed  wall;  place  inside  this 
half  a  dozen  sheepskins  (well  infested)  a  small  pen 
about  three  feet  square  for  calves  &  a  large  log  of 
damp  wood  smoking  &  smouldering  in  the  centre 


IN  A  BEDOUIN  TENT  75 

&  you  have  a  perfect  idea  of  a  Bedawee's  realiza- 
tion of  an  elegant  mansion  with  all  modern  con- 
veniences. Such  was  the  abode  into  which  we  were 
ushered  but  of  which  at  first  we  couldn't  take  the 
slightest  note;  there  being  no  chimney  the  hut  was 
filled  with  dense,  pungent  smoke,  &  immediately, 
though  not  without  a  good  many  tears,  we  adopted 
Ibraim's  advice  of  getting  as  near  the  surface  of 
the  ground  as  a  sitting  posture  would  admit. 
The  hospitable  old  Bedawee  who  was  rather  badly 
off  for  pantaloons  immediately  in  our  honor  put 
a  large  wet  log  on  the  fire  &  we  gathered  around  & 
pulling  off  our  wet  boots  were  soon  as  comfortable 
&  dry  as  circumstances  would  admit.  The  domestic 
circle  of  our  host  we  found  to  be  two  wives  &  two 
children.  One  of  the  wives,  as  we  found  when  the 
happy  family  gathered  around  the  social  hearth, 
was  very  old  &  skinny;  the  other  was  quite  bloom- 
ing &  buxom  but  her  otherwise  pretty  nose  was 
disgustingly  disfigured  by  a  custom  the  Bedawee 
women  have  of  boring  a  hole  in  the  right  nostril  & 
inserting  a  gold  star-shaped  stud,  sometimes  with  a 
turquoise  set  in  it,  as  in  the  present  instance.  The 
wives,  as  far  as  we  could  see,  harmonized  very  well 
except  that  the  elder  appeared  to  have  the  "whop- 
ping" of  the  younger.  .  .  .  For  the  night  the  rest  of 
the  party  spread  their  blankets  &  shawls  &  sheep- 
skins on  the  ground  up  in  one  corner  of  the  tent 
and  lay  four  abreast  as  tight  as  they  could  pack, 
like  mackerel  In  pickle.  Bullions  lay  at  their  feet 
nigher  the  fire,  &  I  was  to  sleep  in  the  other  tent 
with  Ibraim  &  the  muleteers. 


n^i         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

But  when  I  went  to  the  other  tent  &  saw  &  tried 
my  quarters,  I  gave  up  in  despair.    The  tent  was 
even  more  full  of  smoke  than  the  other,  &  my  bed 
was  the  top  of  two  canteen  chests  which  couldn't 
be  made  to  meet  so  that  there  were  six  inches  of  my 
back  that  had  no  support  at  all.  I  stayed  for  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  &  feeling  vastly  more  uncom- 
fortable than  when  I  lay  down  I  determined  to  re- 
turn to  the  other  tent;  this  I  did  &  I  found  that  my 
only  hope  there  was  about  three  feet  directly  front- 
ing the  fire;  this  was  better  than  the  canteen  so  I 
rolled  myself  up  in  my  stout  Grenadine  "Capa  Mon- 
tana "  &  prepared  myself  for  a  slow  roast.   The  old 
wife  when  she  saw  me  come  in  grumbled  like  thunder 
for  she  didn't  like  to  have  barbarians  so  monopo- 
lising her  home  but  her  husband,  hospitable  soul, 
said  not  a  word  but  tried  to  make  a  little  more 
room  for  me.   Two  or  three  sacks  of  wheat  sepa- 
rated my  companions  from  the  family  &  I  slept  at 
the  termination  of  those  sacks,  my  head  literally 
under  Atherton's  heel  &  within  a  foot  of  the  fire.  I 
remained  as  long  as  I  could  huddled  up  chin  & 
knees,  till  at  last  human  nature  could  endure  it  no 
longer  so  feigning  sleep   I  extended   myself  full 
length  &  went  smash  into  the  collection  of  feet  & 
legs  on  the  family  side  of  the  tent.   The  old  gen- 
tleman thus  aroused  simply  arose  &  stirred  the 
fire  but  the  old  lady  raised  the  old  Harry  &  said  all 
manner  of  wicked  things  at  me,  I  suppose,  in  Turk- 
ish. But  I  lay  perfectly  motionless  &  snoring  deeply, 
though  feeling  in  my  inmost  heart  that  she  had 


QUELLING  A  REBELLION  T] 

right  on  her  side.  Scarcely  was  this  incident  over 
&  quiet  restored  when  there  was  a  great  scratching 
at  the  door  of  the  tent  &  in  walked  a  cow,  the 
mother  of  one  of  the  four  calves  that  were  confined 
in  the  little  pen  in  the  tent.  The  old  gentleman  sat 
up  and  looked  at  her  quite  composedly.  A  few  min- 
utes after  a  donkey  seeing  the  cheerful  blaze,  fol- 
lowed the  cow's  lead  &  also  walked  in  out  of  the 
rain.  .  .  .  Yet  after  all  I  slept  soundly  &  refresh- 
ingly, &  awoke  in  the  morning  as  bright  as  a  but- 
ton that  has  been  scrubbed  with  dirt.  It  had  ceased 
raining,  although  the  clouds  still  looked  loweringly. 
Ibraim  came  in  after  breakfast  with  a  complaint 
that  the  muleteers  had  rebelled  and  vowed  that 
they  would  not  budge  a  single  step  that  day  in  con- 
sequence of  a  report  that  some  streams  in  our  road 
were  so  swollen  as  to  be  impassable.  I  went  out  to 
see  what  was  the  matter,  &  there  sat  the  head  mule- 
teer as  obstinate  as  possible;  through  Ibraim  he 
informed  me  that  though  I  were  to  pull  him  limb 
from  limb  he  wouldn't  move  that  day.  I  rushed 
right  up  to  him  looking  as  bloodthirsty  as  I  could  & 
bawled  at  him  in  good  Saxon  that  if  he  didn't  "get 
up  in  one  minute  and  attend  to  his  business,  by 
Allah  &  the  beard  o'  the  Prophet!  I'd  twist  his  in- 
fidel nose  off  his  pagan  face  &  throw  him  &  all  his 
tribe  to  the  dogs.  Wullah!  Mashallah!!"  Ibraim 
was  like  to  burst  with  laughter,  but  it  had  a  great 
effect  on  the  man,  for  the  wind  of  my  fist,  as  I  flour- 
ished it  within  a  hair's  breadth  of  the  man's  nose, 
blew  out  the  flame  of  rebellion  &  he  got  up  & 


78         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

called  his  men  together  &  they  commenced  their 
work.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  We  soon  began  to  ascend  the  mountains,  the 
road  roughened  &  the  air  chilled;  here  &  there  we 
saw  the  whitened  skeleton  of  a  luckless  camel  or  of  a 
woeful  donkey.  .  .  .  The  road  under  our  feet  was  a 
mixture  of  mud  &  slush.  After  we  had  reached  the 
highest  point  we  wound  along  for  some  time  round 
the  peak  of  a  mountain;  when  at  last,  we  reached 
the  corner  we  caught  our  first  glimpse  for  more  than 
a  month  of  the  blue  Mediterranean.  Ah!  how  we 
dwelt  upon  the  sight;  a  delicate  haze  overspread  it 
&  it  looked  as  though  it  extended  a  quarter  of  the 
way  up  the  vault  of  the  sky  &  the  few  white  specks 
of  sails  that  we  could  see  looked  like  little  balloons 
floating  in  this  blue,  blue  ether.  It  was  a  glorious 
sight  &  I  felt  a  spark  of  the  enthusiasm  of  the  ten 
thousand  &  could  scarce  repress  the  shout  of 
@aXarra!  ©aXarra!  .  .  . 

At  nigh  nine  o'clock,  we  halted  in  front  of  the 
gates  of  Beyrout,  slowly  filed  through  &  found  our- 
selves on  its  slippery  stone  pavement.  As  far  as  we 
could  make  out  in  the  darkness,  it  appeared  to  be 
an  odd  mixture  of  European  &  Oriental.  We  passed 
through  narrow  low  bazaars  &  by  high,  narrow 
stone  stores,  by  low  mud  houses  &  neat  stone 
dwellings.  We  passed  through  the  town  &  out  at 
the  other  end  to  our  Hotel  situated  directly  on  the 
seashore.  If  our  souls  had  not  been  in  discord 
through  fatigue,  we  should  have  enjoyed  this  ride 
of  fifteen  minutes.  We  rode  along  the  very  edge  of 


ARRIVAL  AT  BEYROUT  79 

the  rocks  that  line  the  shores  &  the  black  water 
was  surging  &  seething  below  in  a  thousand  break- 
ers here  &  there  loomed  up  the  blazing  torches  of 
the  fishermen,  revealing  the  naked  bodies  of  the 
bearers  climbing  out  among  the  black  &  jagged 
rocks,  the  lurid  light  dancing  &  frolicking  on  the 
ruddy  crests  of  the  waves  that  were  dashing  & 
boiling  all  around.  You  know  how  wicked  the 
water  always  seems  at  night  —  well,  this  water  of 
Beyrout,  as  I  saw  it  in  the  pitchy  darkness  almost 
under  my  very  feet,  &  illumined  here  &  there  by 
the'  ruddy  flare  of  the  torches  looked  blacker  & 
wickeder  than  any  water  that  I  have  ever  seen.  But 
here  we  are  in  the  Courtyard  of  our  hotel,  in  the 
embrace  of  our  good  host,  Demetri  &  the  orders  for 
water,  towels,  dinner  &  beds  flying  from  our  mouths 
faster  than  tongue  can  wag  or  breath  sustain.  .  .  . 

To  his  Family 

Constantinople,  May  $th,  '56 
I  AM  ashamed,  my  dear  Father  &  Mother,  to  send 
you  such  a  driblet,  but  you  know  that  it  is  neither 
because  the  flesh  is  weak  nor  the  spirit  unwilling. 
It  is  a  continuation  of  my  last.  .  .  .  This  past  week 
we  have  been  to  the  Crimea  &  today  we  leave  for 
Athens.  ,  .  . 

Tuesday  we  awoke  at  anchor  oflf  Rhodes  &  I 
rushed  up  on  deck.  There  it  was  before  me;  look- 
ing as  quaint,  old  fashioned,  &  out  of  date  as  helm 
&  hauberks  &  twisted  mail  would  appear  at  an 
eve'g  party,  of  the  present  day.  After  breakfast  we 


8o         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

went  on  shore.  Here  I  might  be  sentimental  to  any 
extent;  in  fact  it  is  difficult  to  avoid  it.  Leaving 
the  busy  trafficking  world  of  a  Levantine  port  be- 
hind us,  we  entered  at  once  upon  a  scene  Euro- 
pean &  mediaeval  in  all  its  aspects,  &  the  lessons 
of  centuries  were  imparted  to  us  in  a  few  seconds. 
The  houses  on  each  side  were  Gothic  in  character 
&  adorned  with  rich  carvings  &  ornaments.  .  .  . 
Everything  wore  an  air  of  perfect  desolation  & 
told  the  sad  story  of  departed  magnificence;  from 
the  chinks  of  some  armorial  bearing  waved  richly 
flowering  weeds,  or  from  the  sculptured  crest  of 
some  noble  name  nodded  a  gorgeous  plume  of 
scarlet  poppies  &  green  lizards  basked  undisturbed 
on  the  lintel  of  the  window  from  which  fair  eyes 
had  looked  upon  noble  forms  in  burnished  armor 
dight.  .  .  .  No  one  but  ourselves  &  a  few  children 
playing  around  an  old  doorway  were  to  be  seen  on 
the  whole  street  &  so  the  place  has  stood  for  more 
than  three  hundred  years,  looking  as  it  did  when 
on  the  1st  of  January  1523  L'Isle  Adam,  at  the 
head  of  his  gallant  band,  surrendered  it  into  the 
hands  of  the  Turks  who  lost  in  admiration  for  his 
bravery  refrained  from  despoiling  &  have  preserved 
it  almost  intact  to  the  present  day.  .  .  . 

While  some  of  our  party  went  to  obtain  permis- 
sion to  enter  the  castle,  the  rest  of  us  sat  down 
under  the  shade  of  some  trees  in  an  old  Turkish 
burial-ground.  Permission  was  soon  obtained  & 
we  mounted  the  high  tower  at  the  entrance  of  the 
harbor.  Here  was  pointed  out  to  us  the  spot  where 


RHODES  AND  THE  DARDANELLES    8i 

the  Colossus  once  planted  his  giant  feet,  &  "with 
his  head  struck  the  stars."    The  fine  harbor  over 
which  he  once  presided  has  been  almost  wholly 
filled  up  &  part  of  it  is  occupied  by  the  town. 
Rhodes  tells   a  double  story,  the  location  of  the 
Colossus  recalls  a  time  when  the  city  surpassed 
Rome  in  splendor  &  the  Street  of  the  Knights  tells 
the  glories  of  the  middle  ages.    I  bought  a  little 
ancient  coin  of  Rhodes  with  a  rose  on  the  obverse  & 
we  reluctantly  returned  to  the  steamer;  they  were 
already  lighting  the  fires  and  we  were  soon  off.  .  .  . 
The  next  morning  when  I  went  on  deck  after 
breakfast  we  were  just  entering  the  Dardanelles  & 
about  nine  we  stopped  for  a  few  minutes  at  the  vil- 
lage &  fort  of  that  name  &  soon  after  the  straits 
narrowed  &  became  more  picturesque  though  not 
particularly  noticeable  by  any  means  for  preemi- 
nent beauty.  At  last  the  stream  appeared  as  though 
it  had  been  dammed  up  &  at  the  base  of  the  hills 
appeared  two  white  towers;  as  we  approached  we 
found  that  the  stream  turned  at  right  angles,  that 
the  towers  were  on  opposite  sides;  in  short,  that 
the  white  washed  tower  on  our  right  was  Abydos  & 
on  the  left  Sestos.    The  current  was  apparently 
very  swift  &  I  thought  that  I  could  dimly  discern 
the  shadowy  forms  of  Steinhaiiser's  group  on  the 
left  shore,  the  Turkish  minaret  there  was  undoubt- 
edly the  tower  to  which  Hero  being  a  priestess  had 
access  &  from  which  she  waved  the  torch.  .  .  .  Here 
too  Xerxes  who  did  die,  so  the  Primer  tells  us,  built 
his  bridge  of  boats.   But  the  steamer  curled  up  his 


82         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

smoke  at  all  sentiment  &  puffed  and  snorted  on 
regardless  of  poor  Leander's  corpse  or  the  mighty 
bridge  of  boats.  In  a  short  time  we  reached 
Gallipoli,  which  looked  like  a  French  settlement, 
French  troops  were  lolling  about  on  the  shore  & 
the  French  flag  waved  over  everything.  In  the 
afternoon  we  were  on  the  sea  of  Marmora. 

The  next  morn'g,  Saturday  (April  19th),  when  we 
went  on  deck  we  were  already  entering  the  Golden 
Horn.  Whew!  what  a  vast  amount  of  lies  have 
been  told  of  this  self  same  Golden  Horn.  From  all 
that  I  have  ever  read,  I  expected  to  be  perfectly 
overwhelmed  by  a  blaze  of  glory,  a  vision  of  ineffable 
splendor;  there  were  to  be  a  perfect  wilderness  of 
graceful  tapering  minarets,  &  golden  domes  ex- 
quisitely rounded  were  to  almost  hang  suspended 
in  mid  air.  The  sultans'  palaces  were  to  glow  with 
sparkling  beauty  like  the  fairest  gems.  In  short, 
every  description  that  I  have  ever  read  led  me  to 
suppose  that  I  should  be  stunned  &  crushed  be- 
neath the  effulgent  radiance  all  around!  What, 
then,  think  you  did  I  see.?  Why  nothing  but  an  im- 
mense dirty,  smoky,  dingy,  foggy,  tawdry,  shackley, 
tumble  down  city;  here  and  there  minarets  as 
graceful  &  imposing  as  bean  poles  &  domes  as 
exquisitely  rounded  as  the  bottom  of  a  wash  basin 
&  about  as  much  gilded.  It  looked  to  me  in  the 
fog  and  dirt  very  much  like  London  from  the 
Thames.  .  .  . 

The  Crimean  War  had  ended  but  a  month  before 


THE  CRIMEAN  WAR  83 

Furness  and  Blight  landed  at  Constantinople  — 
peace  was  signed  on  the  30th  of  March  —  so  a 
journey  to  the  scenes  of  the  war  was  more  than  de- 
sirable. After  visiting  all  the  important  sights  of 
Constantinople,  they  arranged  to  cross  the  Black 
Sea  on  a  French  vessel  and  land  in  the  Crimea, 
from  which  the  troops  had  not  yet  withdrawn,  and 
see  for  themselves  Alma,  Balaclava,  the  MalakofF, 
and  Sebastopol. 

.  .  .  After  dinner  I  entered  into  conversation  with 
several  English  Officers  on  the  all-engaging  subject 
of  the  Crimea.  Their  opinions  were  curious  to  hear 
&  withal  perfectly  consistent  with  that  English 
intense  national  conceit.  One  of  them,  a  Captain 
in  the  Polish  legion,  said  to  me,  "why,  don't  you 
see,  we've  gained  Alma,  Inkermann  &  Balaclava, 
&  what  have  the  French  done.?  —  taken  the  Mala- 
koflF;  we've  gained  three  quarters  of  the  war  &  we 
certainly  can  afford  to  let  the  French  have  the  re- 
maining quarter.".  .  . 

The  next  morn'g  when  I  awoke  the  ship  had 
ceased  from  creaking  &  the  engines  were  at  rest; 
impatient  for  the  first  glimpse  of  the  Crimea  I 
dressed  and  rushed  on  deck,  but  not  a  speck  of 
land  could  I  anywhere  behold,  except  it  were  the 
dirt  on  the  hands  &  faces  of  the  engineers;  all  around 
above  &  below,  there  was  nothing  but  the  masts 
&  pipes  of  ships  &  steamers,  the  sky  even  was  fairly 
obliterated  with  rigging.  Taking  the  existence  of 
the  Crimea  on  trust,  as  the  Captain  had  given  us 
his  word   of   honor   that  this   was  Kamiesh,  our 


84         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

plans  were  quickly  matured  &  ...  we  went  ashore 
in  the  ship's  gig  &  stepped  our  first  on  Russian 
soil;  everything  around  us  was  an  odd  mixture  of 
French  &  oriental;  the  names  of  the  streets  were 
French,  but  the  shops  were  oriental  booths;  there 
were  boxes  of  French  goods,  but  they  were  borne 
on  the  backs  of  Turkish  Hamals;  there  were  French 
men  smoking  nargeeleys  &  Turks  smoking  cigars. 
The  houses  are  all  of  wood,  one  story  high  &  every 
one  a  store,  in  whose  large  open  windows,  every  con- 
ceivable variety  of  goods  Is  displayed,  from  tobacco 
to  calico  &  from  loaf  sugar  to  herrings.  The  streets 
were  filled  with  a  busy  trafficking  throng,  mostly 
soldiers,  not  in  such  gay,  unsullied  attire,  as  on  the 
Champs  Elysees,  but  a  good  deal  dusty  &  toil  worn; 
there  was  no  lack  of  horsemen  on  the  hard  macad- 
amised walk  &  now  &  then  a  smart,  trig,  jaunty  lit- 
tle vivandiere  would  dash  by  sitting  astride  of  her 
horse  with  as  much  ease  &  spirit  as  a  cavalry  cap- 
tain. We  walked  up  the  Rue  Napoleon  till  we  came 
to  the  Hotel  des  Colonnies  &  here  we  got  three 
horses,  which  proved  to  be  by  no  means  despicable, 
&  mounting  these  we  rode  out  of  Kamiesh  on  a  good 
round  gallop,  &  turning  to  our  left,  we  made  a  bee- 
line  for  Sebastopol.  The  roads  were  all  splendid, 
for  at  times  there  were  very  many  of  them  branch- 
ing out  in  all  directions;  the  ground  was  more  un- 
dulating than  hilly,  &  had  that  yellow,  parched 
look  of  Syrian  desolation  of  which  lately  I  have  had 
a  little  too  much;  cultivation  appeared  to  have  been 
checked  &  nature  was  at  a  dead  stand  &  there  was 


DESOLATION  IN  THE  CRIMEA       85 

no  need  of  the  cannon  balls  which  were  here  & 
there  lying  along  the  roadside  to  tell  you  that  War 
had  passed  his  scathing  hand  over  these  once  fair 
vineyards.  (Whew!)  But  seriously  &  setting  aside 
all  false  sentimentality,  if  you  had  been  dropped 
out  of  the  moon  into  the  Crimea,  you  would  know 
that  it  had  been  the  scene  of  some  dreadful  history 
—  not  a  bush  or  tree  was  to  be  seen,  scarcely  a  blade 
of  grass  &  here  &  there  the  whitening  skull  or 
ribs  of  some  poor  horse  were  protruding  above  the 
surface  of  the  ground.  Everything  appeared  dead 
even  the  very  air.  There  was  no  song  of  birds  or 
hum  of  insects;  everything  was  sombre  gloomy  & 
dead.  We  passed  by  a  farmhouse  that  looked  as 
though  it  might  have  been  a  cheerful,  pleasant  home 
but  the  walls  were  battered  down  by  huge  cannon 
balls  that  still  lay  among  their  work  of  destruc- 
tion; two  or  three  of  the  walls  that  still  remained 
standing  were  perfectly  covered  with  huge  bruises 
&  here  &  there  holes  like  windows.  After  riding 
about  an  hour  we  got  our  first  glimpse  of  the  city, 
this  so  engaged  our  attention  that  we  scarcely 
heeded  the  multitudes  of  gabions  &  trenches  that 
were  thickly  strewn  on  each  side  of  the  road;  from 
some  of  them  the  French  soldiers  were  busily  re- 
moving cannon.  The  first  sight  of  Sebastopol  dis- 
appointed me.  I  expected  it  to  stand  on  a  hill  rather 
than  in  a  valley,  &  to  see  it  surrounded  by  high, 
massive  stone  walls,  instead  of  basket  &  earth  work 
&  I  have  become  so  accustomed  in  Syria  to  see  cit- 
ies &  villages  of  the  same  color  as  the  soil  on  which 


86         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

they  are  built  that  I  was  not  at  all  impressed  by  the 
size.  My  first  impression  was  that  of  an  immense 
graveyard;  the  white  walls  that  are  left  standing 
look  precisely  like  so  many  crumbly  tombstone^, 
while  here  &  there  rose  the  spire  of  a  church  to 
complete  the  illusion.  This  impression  passed  off 
in  a  minute  or  two  as  we  approached  nearer  &  ob- 
jects began  to  define  themselves  more  clearly.  .  .  . 

On  our  right  as  we  entered  was  the  Theatre, 
originally  a  fine  stone  building  but  now  a  perfect 
ruin;  the  tragedy  of  which  it  was  the  witness  had 
been  enacted  not  within  but  without  its  walls;  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street  some  low  houses  had 
been  repaired  &  now  served  as  comfortable  barracks 
for  some  French  soldiers,  the  guard  of  the  city.  .  .  . 

The  whole  place  looked  like  an  immense  Fort; 
everything  looked  fierce  &  bristling;  as  you  looked 
you  felt  yourself  instinctively  becoming  pugilis- 
tic. The  ground  was  literally  covered  with  cannon 
balls,  grape  shot  &  pieces  of  exploded  shell.  There 
were  plenty  of  old  Russian  coats  &  caps  lying  around 
&  numberless  cartouche  boxes  &  ruined  knapsacks. 

The  custom  house  was  built  in  the  style  of  a 
Grecian  portico  with  Doric  fluted  columns  &  where 
it  wasn't  in  ruins  was  really  a  very  fine  structure. 
We  rode  up  the  wide  street  that  runs  parallel  with 
the  one  by  which  we  entered.  Its  appearance  seemed 
more  aristocratic;  the  houses  were  larger  &  better 
finished.  Some  were  really  very  handsome  build- 
ings, the  houses  I  suppose  of  the  Generals  &  higher 
officers.   But  the  effects  of  cannon  were  everywhere 


SEBASTOPOL  87 

terrible;  many  of  the  trees  were  completely  shiv- 
ered to  splinters  &  door  posts  &  window  jambs 
wholly  knocked  awry,  big  jagged  windows  made 
in  the  sides  of  parlors;  masses  of  stone  encum- 
bered the  sidewalks,  while  in  the  midst  the  cause 
of  all  this  destruction  &  fearful  devastation  was 
lying  as  big  &  round  &  shining  &  black  and  as  inno- 
cent-looking as  you  please.  Through  the  vacant 
windows  the  sun  shone  bright  &  clear  into  what 
might  once  have  been  the  luxurious  boudoir  of 
some  delicate  lady.  The  houses,  inside,  were 
many  of  them  a  heap  of  stones  &  ruins.  Every- 
thing told  of  ruin  &  desolation  &  as  I  rode  through 
the  long  street  it  seemed  as  though  the  world  had 
gone  to  ruin,  as  if  the  sun  would  set  on  ruins  & 
would  rise  on  ruins  &  everything  would  be  ruins 
ever  after;  we  halted  at  the  door  of  a  church  whose 
single  handsome  dome  resembled  a  gigantic  pepper 
box;  it  had  been  left  half  finished  &  the  scaffolding 
of  the  plasterers  was  still  suspended  inside. 

From  thence  we  soon  arrived  at  the  Malakoff  but 
as  we. approached  it  from  the  Russian  side  we  had 
entered  it  almost  before  we  were  aware.  It  covers 
over  a  large  space  of  ground  &  is  a  perfect  labyrinth 
of  gabions  or  basket  work,  sand  bags,  curtains  & 
ditches,  the  ground  perfectly  paved  with  grape 
cannister  &  shell.  .  .  . 

As  we  were  riding  towards  the  principal  spot  or 
centre  of  the  place,  we  came  upon  a  long  grave  some 
fifty  feet  long  by  twenty  wide.  It  was  one  of  those 
immense  pits  where  two  hundred  men  all  shared 


88         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

the  same  grave.  A  black  wooden  cross  stood  at  the 
head,  a  cannon  ball  on  each  arm  &  others  round 
the  base,  bearing  this,  to  me,  sad  inscription: 

Unis  pour  la  victoire, 
Reunis  par  la  mort, 
Du  soldat  c'est  la  gloire, 
Des  braves  c'est  la  sort!  .  .  . 

A  French  corporal  of  the  21st  of  the  line,  the 
same  regiment  that  first  planted  the  flag  on  the 
tower,  immediately  came  up  to  us  &  most  politely 
offered  to  show  us  around.  We  ascended  at  once  to 
the  embankment  above  the  tower,  mounting  by 
the  same  path  that  the  French  had  made  when 
they  stormed  it.  On  the  top  still  waved  the  identical 
French  tricolor  where  it  was  originally  planted. 
It  can  hardly  be  called  a  tricolor,  for  it  is  so  torn 
to  shreds  that  not  much  more  than  a  strip  of  the 
blue  remains.  Another  theme  for  commonplace. 
From  this  spot  we  got  our  notions  of  things  in  gen- 
eral. Behind  us  in  the  Malakoff,  it  was,  as  I  have 
said,  a  perfect  labyrinth  of  fortifications  and  maze 
of  mounds,  so  that  if  the  French  had  not  taken  the 
Russians  by  surprise  when  they  were  all  at  dinner, 
they  would  have  been  no  better  off  after  they  had 
entered  the  place  than  they  were  before  &  might 
have  still  found  it  impossible  to  dislodge  their  en- 
emies. In  front  of  us  at  our  feet  was  the  ditch 
where  so  many  brave  fellows  lost  their  lives  on 
that  memorable  8th  Sept.  It  was  about  twenty 
feet  wide  &  about  as  many  deep  &  across  it  were 
lying  the  ladders  which  the  French  used  on  that 


FRENCH  AND  ENGLISH  SOLDIERS     89 

day.  The  ditch  was  by  no  means  as  deep  even  as  it 
was  originally.  The  mass  of  dead  was  so  deep  in  it 
that  it  would  have  been  too  great  a  task  to  remove 
them,  so  dirt  was  just  shovelled  in  on  top.  About 
fifty  or  sixty  feet  off  were  the  advanced  line  of 
French  trenches  extending  in  zigzag  courses  from 
the  base  of  the  Mamelan  Vert,  a  slight  mound 
about  half  a  mile  distant.  Although  they  are  now 
all  filled  up,  yet  they  could  be  very  readily  traced. 
On  our  right  as  we  faced  the  Mamelan  Vert,  sep- 
arated from  us  by  a  ravine,  was  the  Redan  from 
which  the  English  flag  was  flying.  We  didn't  stay 
very  long,  for  the  day  was  waning.  The  soldiers 
of  whom  there  were  quite  a  number  around  play- 
ing a  sort  of  game  of  marbles  with  grape  shot,  told 
us  plenty  of  their  experiences,  how  they  had 
smoked  out  the  Russians  who  had  taken  refuge  in 
the  Malakoff  tower,  by  stopping  the  narrow  win- 
dows with  smouldering  straw.  .  .  . 

From  the  Mamelan  we  went  to  the  Redan.  It 
presented  both  externally  &  internally  the  same 
general  features  as  the  Malakoff:  Gabions,  mounds, 
sand  bags,  beams,  cannon,  knapsacks,  iron  water 
tanks,  powder  cannisters  everywhere  in  the  direst 
confusion.  English  soldiers  were  busy  removing 
the  big  heavy  guns.  The  ditch  in  front  has  been 
mostly  filled  up  &  in  one  place  a  good  road  made 
over  it.  Here  we  set  our  wits  at  work  to  solve 
the  question  why  the  English  didn't  take  the  Redan 
when  the  French  took  the  Malakoff. 

How  came  it  that  the  French   trenched  up  to 


90         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

within  fifty  feet  of  the  Malakoff  &  the  English  didn't 
get  within  two  hundred  of  the  Redan.  It's  in  vain 
that  Englishmen  who  have  not  been  on  the  spot 
say  that  the  ground  in  front  of  the  Redan  was  much 
harder  than  in  front  of  the  Malakoff.  This  isn't 
so,  for  this  point  I  examined  particularly.  The  lay 
of  the  ground,  not  to  speak  of  the  texture  of  the 
soil,  was,  on  an  average,  more  difficult  for  the 
French  than  for  the  English;  so  difficult,  in  fact, 
that  the  English  refused  to  undertake  the  opera- 
tions against  the  Malakoff  &  selected  the  Redan,  al- 
though in  the  course  of  events  the  former  had  fallen 
to  their  share.  Setting  the  aff"air,  therefore,  in  its 
most  impartial  light,  the  French  proved  themselves 
to  be  by  far  the  better  soldiers  &  setting  the  afli^air 
in  a  very  partial  light,  giving  the  English  every  ad- 
vantage possible,  &  the  French  soldiers  still  come 
out  infinitely  their  superiors.  That  the  English  have 
some  very  fine  qualities  as  soldiers  must  be  admitted; 
they  really  have  what  they  so  much  boast  of: 
"pluck";  they'll  form  a  line  &  march  undaunted 
to  inevitable  death  up  to  the  very  cannon's  mouth, 
&  die  before  they've  even  seen  their  enemy,  but 
as  a  French  captain  said  to  me,  to  do  "une  chose 
comme  ca,  ce  n'est  pas  la  guerre."  And  herein  lies 
the  answer  to  the  question;  in  the  open  field  the 
English  may  do  very  finely,  but  in  a  siege  where  the 
most  refined  art  of  war  is  developed  &  where  en- 
ergy &  despatch  is  required  of  the  soldiers,  there  the 
English  fail  lamentably.  But  I'm  afraid  that  I've 
been  very  prosey  &  shouldn't  have  mentioned  the 


BALACLAVA  91 

subject  at  all,  had  it  not  been  such  a  frequent  sub- 
ject of  discussion  amongst  us,  &  if  the  EngHsh 
didn't  claim  so  much  for  themselves.  To  read  the 
English  papers  one  would  think  that  they  had 
fought  the  war  in  the  Crimea  &  that  they  had 
beaten  the  Russians!  Why!  it  wasn't  till  very  lately 
that  the  French  ceased  speaking  of  them  as  "the 
English  Contingent,"  placing  them  on  a  par  with 
the  Turks  &  Sardinians.  .  .  . 

We  reached  Balaclava  shortly  afterwards;  signs 
of  the  English  were  visible  in  soda-water  bottles 
along  the  road,  &  behind  all  the  English  encamp- 
ments empty  bottles  of  Barclay  &  Perkins,  India 
Pale  Ale  &  Harvey  Sauce  were  certainly  as  thickly 
strewed  as  the  cannon  balls  in  Sebastopol.  .  .  . 

At  last  we  entered  the  village  of  Balaclava  every- 
thing in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  was  changed  to  Eng- 
lish manners  &  customs.  ...  As  far  as  huge  piles 
of  coal  &  lumber,  railway  tracks  &  the  whistling  of 
locomotives  were  concerned,  we  might  as  well  have 
been  in  Liverpool  as  in  the  Crimea.  Everything 
wore  an  air  of  bustle  &  Anglo-Saxon  activity  which 
I  must  confess  was  not  unpleasant  to  me.  Every- 
thing connected  with  the  army  looked  bright  & 
new  &  in  perfect  condition;  the  carts  were  neatly 
painted,  the  horses  neatly  groomed,  the  harness 
well  adapted  &  complete,  the  chains  brightly  pol- 
ished, the  men  well  clothed  &  well  shod,  &  good 
healthy  food  beamed  in  every  lineament.  Indeed  it 
would  be  hard  to  conceive  of  a  more  perfect  army 
as  far  as  equipment  is  concerned  than  that  we  saw 


92         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

at  Balaclava.  But  at  present  it  is  more  of  a  dis- 
grace than  an  honor  to  England  coming  as  it  does 
the  day  after  the  fair,  when  there  is  no  longer  any 
need  of  it,  after  her  finest  soldiers  have  been  sac- 
rificed to  negligence  &  blundering  stupidity.  .  .  . 

After  leaving  the  village  on  our  return  home  we 
visited  the  Battleground  of  the  Battle  of  Bala- 
clava, where  took  place  that  famous  cavalry  charge 
of  the  light  &  heavy  brigade.  It  was  a  long  plain 
of  rich  meadow  land  terminated  by  a  range  of 
low  hills.  On  two  of  these  hills  the  Russians  had 
batteries  taken,  I  believe,  from  the  Turks.  These 
batteries  that  unfortunate  seven  hundred  were  or- 
dered to  re-take  &  on  that  plain,  the  focus  of  the 
two  batteries,  they  rode  to  death.  As  the  soldiers 
from  whom  we  demanded  information  gave  rather 
contradictory  statements,  D.  &.  B.  deputed  me  to 
ask  Information  of  the  two  officers  who  were  rid- 
ing towards  us.  Replete  with  brass  I  rode  up  to 
them,  bowed  &  asked  my  question  but  not  till 
then  had  I  observed  that  one  of  them  was  a  very 
high  General  attended  by  his  aide-de-camp  &  that 
on  the  latter's  face  there  was  almost  an  audible 
grin  at  my  greenness.  But  when  was  a  true  Dem- 
ocrat ever  abashed.?  So  I  didn't  care  a  straw  & 
the  General  most  poHtely  explained  everything  & 
chatted  with  us  some  time.  When  we  got  home 
we  made  inquiries  which  placed  it  beyond  a  doubt 
that  It  was  no  other  than  Sir  William  Codrlngton^ 
whom  we  had  been  using  as  our  valet  de  place.  .  . . 

*  Sir  William  Codrington  was  at  this  time  Commander-in-chief  of 
the  British  forces  in  the  Crimea. 


THE  PLAINS  OF  TROY  93 

All  day  April  5th  we  had  been  coasting  along  the 
shore  of  Asia  Minor  &  in  the  afternoon  came  within 
sight  of  the  plains  of  Troy.  It  was  a  long  wide  plain 
here  &  there  undulating  with  mounds;  in  the  blue 
distance  was  Mt.  Ida,  "many-fountained  Ida," 
lifting  its  summit  of  snow  into  the  clouds.  In  a 
little  bay  was  the  mouth  of  the  Scamander,  &  a 
large  tumulus  not  far  from  the  shore  was  the  tomb 
of  Hector.  On  our  right  was  the  Island  of  Tenedos, 
behind  which  the  Grecian  fleet  hid,  when  it  left  the 
gigantic  horse  behind  it  in  the  camp.  The  whole 
panorama  passed  before  me  like  a  dream,  reality  & 
fiction  were  so  blended  that  I  couldn't  tell  one  from 
the  other,  &  had  Neptune  at  that  instant  made  his 
appearance,  sitting  in  his  wreathed  shell  trident 
in  hand,  with  dazzling  Amphitrite  by  his  side  & 
drawn  by  dolphins,  I  should  certainly  haveexpressed 
&  probably  felt,  but  little  surprise.  Not  far  from 
the  tomb  of  Hector  was  another  mound,  the  tomb 
of  Achilles.  I  gazed  &  gazed  &  there  is  probably  no 
scene  of  my  travels  that  is  more  vividly  impressed 
on  my  mind.  ,  .  . 

The  steamer  brought  them  to  Athens  where  every 
street,  every  house,  every  store  proved  a  delight 
to  Furness,  "Honor  bright  &  no  fooling,  it  made 
my  brain  whirl  &  I  felt  all  but  crazy  with  delight. 
I  wanted  to  shriek  out  the  whole  conjugation  of 
the  verb  ToyTTTO)."  His  enthusiasm  for  all  of  Athens 
is  embodied  in  the  following  extract: 

After  dinner  Blight,  Dwight  &  myself  took  a 
walk  to  Mt.  Lycabettus;  this  is  a  craggy  rock  some- 


94         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

what  higher  than  the  Acropolis,  &  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  behind  Athens.  We  chmbed  up  its  steep 
sides  &  about  half  way  up  rested  on  the  mossy 
stones  to  watch  the  sun  set  on  the  bay  of  Salamis. 
Ah !  Was  there  ever  on  this  wide  world  such  a  sight! 
The  seat  of  Xerxes  was  glowing  as  it  did  of  yore, 
like  burnished  gold,  Mt.  Cithaeron  looked  like  an 
exquisite  cloud  on  the  horizon,  a  purple  offering 
of  the  earth  to  the  deep  blue  heavens,  while  close  to 
us  Mt.  Hymettus,  with  its  exquisitely  moulded 
outline,  seemed  a  solemn  sentinel  over  the  silent 
beauty  of  the  landscape,  &  the  little  town  of  Athens 
below  us,  with  its  white  modern  houses  clustering 
around  the  base  of  its  rugged  Acropolis  &  tawny 
Parthenon.  Right  in  the  front  of  us  stretched  the 
sea  glittering  with  purple,  blue  &  gold,  mingling  & 
combining  with  each  other  until  they  were  all 
lost  in  the  deep,  unfathomable  azure  of  the  hori- 
zon &  the  sky.  Colors  in  this  region  can't  be  exag- 
gerated, no  pigments  of  the  painter's  palette  can 
equal  the  tints  of  this  heavenly  climate.  And  then 
what  a  scene  for  sentiment,  what  a  world  of  asso- 
ciations crowded  every  spot!  Take  my  word  for 
it,  Greece,  &  nothing  but  Greece  is  the  land  for  a 
gentleman  &  a  scholar.  It  was  almost  dark  be- 
fore we  were  again  within  the  city,  but  the  moon, 
I  beg  the  goddess's  pardon,  I  should  say  Silene, 
was  jealous  of  the  mighty  glories  which  the  sun  had 
just  been  scattering  broadcast  over  the  world,  & 
was  just  struggling  up  from  behind  Mt.  Fames 
to  see  what  she  could  do  in  that  line.    Willing  to 


THE  GROVES  OF  ACADEME         95 

encourage  her  we  took  a  carriage  &  drove  out;  ye 
Gods  &  the  blessed  nine!  to  the  groves  of  Academe! 
Before  we  reached  there  we  got  out  &  walked  & 
finally  entered  its  sombre  shadows.  The  acacias 
were  in  full  blossom  &  were  stifling  the  air  with  their 
delicious  perfume;  light  hazy  dew  was  rising  from 
the  luxuriant  grass;  from  every  thicket  cicalas  were 
"tuning  their  lyres"  as  in  the  days  of  Anacreon; 
and  over  all  the  Moon  was  shedding  its  beams  of 
eyrie,  uncanny  lights  softening  all  defects  &  height- 
ening every  charm.  We  wandered  through  the 
long  allies  &  thousands  of  old  schoolboy  recol- 
lections came  crowding  upon  us  of  Socrates,  Plato, 
Zeno,  &  Aristotle.  But  how  everything  was  changed, 
the  deformed,  transformed,  the  bugbears  of  col- 
lege into  the  glories  of  Academe.  Socrates  was  no 
longer  the  eight  Greek  letters  composing  his  name, 
&  we  saw  him  right  before  us  with  his  bald  forehead, 
snub  nose,  &  piercing  eyes,  forever  asking  those  still 
more  piercing  questions,  the  accoucheur  instru- 
ments, as  he  used  to  call  them,  of  intelligence  &  the 
truth.  We  walked  nearly  all  the  way  home,  rev- 
eling in  animal  spirits,  &  revelling  in  the  beauty 
of  everything  around  us,  &  longing  for  some  of 
those  robbers  to  attack  us,  with  which  we  had  heard 
Greece  was  teeming.  .  .  , 

At  five  P.M.  we  bade  adieu  to  Athens  &  drove 
down  to  the  boat  which  was  to  take  Dwight  to 
Trieste  &  Blight  &  myself  part  of  the  way  to  Malta, 
when  we  reached  the  Piraeus  a  dozen  persons  sur- 


96         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

rounded  the  carriage  &  there  was  an  immense  jab- 
bering which  was  not  only  all  Greek  to  us,  but 
to  them  too,  finally  Demetri  put  his  head  in  the 
carriage  window  &  said,  "the  boat's  gone.  Sir." 
"Where?  Where?"  says  Blight.  "Thunder!"  says 
Dwight.  I  rolled  back  in  the  carriage  &  roared  with 
laughter,  for  which  performance  I  was  sharply  re- 
buked by  Blight  &  smiled  upon  with  intense  scorn 
by  Dwight.  Blight  was  in  immense  trepidation; 
an  Irishman  would  say  he  was  completely  mul- 
fathered,  &  was  actually  for  pursuing  the  steamer 
with  a  rowboat,  which  made  my  laughter  break 
out  afresh  &  I  was  told  that  I  always  he-hawed  at 
the  wrong  time,  which  remark  so  far  from  extin- 
guishing my  laughter,  sent  me  into  perfect  convul- 
sions which  at  last  had  the  desired  eflFect.  Blight's 
face  relaxed,  Dwight  smiled,  Demetri  grinned  & 
then  we  all  laughed  together. 

The  explanation  of  the  mystery  was  that  an 
Austrian  General  was  passenger  on  board  &  the 
boat  being  Austrian,  in  their  vile  toadying  to  rank 
&  decorations,  they  had  weighed  anchor  half  an 
hour  sooner  than  the  time  advertised. 

After  expending  all  our  French  &  wrath  on  the 
bald  head  of  the  little  agent,  (whose  fault  it  really 
was,)  &  who  bore  it  all  with  the  most  oily  meek- 
ness, we  got  in  to  our  carriage  &  drove  back  to  Ath- 
ens far  from  displeased  that  the  fates  had  given  us 
one  more  day  in  that  thoroughly,  unexceptionally 
delightful  city,  ... 


RETURN  TO  PARIS  97 

They  caught  the  boat  the  following  day,  how- 
ever, and  coasting  along  between  the  islands  of 
Greece,  reached  Brindisi.  From  this  town  they 
pushed  on  through  Italy  and  France  to  Paris,  when 
to  Furness's  great  joy  home  seemed  almost  within 
realization.  .  .  . 


To  his  Family 

Paris!!  June  I2th,  1 856 
...  I  FEEL  like  a  drivelling  idiot  today,  so  over- 
joyed am  I  at  getting  back  to  dear  old  Paris  it  being 
so  near  home.  I'm  screaming  all  the  time  I  write. 
Our  movements  are  very  uncertain;  we  shall 
probably  make  a  short  tour  here  in  France,  to  see 
the  Gothic  Cathedrals  of  Rouen,  Chartres,  Amiens, 
Abbeville  &c.,  then  cross  through  England  to  Liver- 
pool &  I  hope  that  I  shall  be  able  to  fall  down  on 
bended  knee  before  my  Lady  Mother  as  a  birthday 
present.  From  this  time  henceforth  our  communica- 
tions will  be  regular  &  I  long  to  be  making  arrange- 
ments for  my  return.  But  don't  let  America  think 
that  I  am  anxious  to  see  her;  the  low,  dirty  jade, 
she  don't  deserve  to  have  anybody  look  at  her. 
And  yet  I  don't  think  she  is  half  so  bad  as  England. 
England  (to  state  my  views  epigrammatically)  as 
a  nation  I  abhor,  but  individually  I  adore.  Re- 
verse the  sentence  &  you  have  my  feelings  about 
France,  &  when  I  add  that  I  think  the  third  Na- 
poleon fifty  times  greater  than  ever  his  uncle  was 
or  could  have  been,  as  we  say  here,  in  Paris,  voila 
tout  (shrug  your  shoulders). 


98         HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

To  his  Family 

Paris,  August  zjth,  '56 
Returning  home!  Ah,  what  deep  harmony  there 
is  in  those  words;  they  are  my  last  thoughts  ai 
night,  ghde  bewitchingly  through  all  my  dreams  &< 
are  the  one  bright  spot  when  I  awake  in  the  morn'g 
—  and  my  servant  must  think  that  I  am  of  the 
most  cherubic  disposition  from  the  exquisite  smile 
with  which  I  gaze  upon  him  when  in  the  morn'g 
he  stands  at  my  bedside  with  the  words,  "Reveiller, 
Monsieur  Fournaisse,  si'l  vous  plait,  il  vient  de 
sonner  sept  heures."  "Aha,  Louis,"  I  reply,  "vous 
etes  sur  que  la  nuit  est  passer,  &  que  nous  avons  le 
vingt-septieme,  pas  the  vingt-seizieme?  Vous  en 
etes  sur?"  "Oui,  oui,  oui.  Monsieur,  c'estbien  sur!" 
"Eh  bien,"  I  reply,  "that  being  the  case  I'll  con- 
sent to  get  up."  The  foregoing  little  scene  from  do- 
mestic life  raises  the  curtain  on  something  different 
than  engine  whistles,  trunks,  hotels  &  restaurants, 
with  which  lately  my  life  has  turned,  &  the  whole 
thing  must  be  as  inexplicable  to  you  as  it  is  novel  & 
delightful  to  me.  Blight's  name  doesn't  figure  in 
the  dramatis  personse.  Ain't  it  queer  &  isn't  your 
curiosity  excited.^  Yes,  here  I  am  in  Paris  all  alone, 
&  Blight's  away  with  his  family  careering  up  & 
down  the  Rhine,  galloping  over  glaciers  &  sliding 
down  avalanches  in  Switzerland.  It  will  require  I 
think  but  a  few  words  on  my  part  to  make  you  see 
the  rationality  of  our  present  positions.  When  I 
came  abroad  it  was  with  the  understanding  that 
I  was  to  acquire  German  &  French.   With  my  op- 


VARYING  PLANS  99 

portunities  for  learning  the  former  I  am  abundantly 
satisfied,  but  poor  French  has  always  been  a  scape- 
goat; It  has  been  thrust  into  dark  corners,  maligned, 
&  never  received  more  than  a  passing  compliment 
of  three  or  four  weeks,  laggardly  bestowed.  This 
has  always  hurt  my  feelings,  but  circumstances 
last  winter  were  so  manifestly  plain  that  I  acqui- 
esced in  such  treatment  without  a  murmur.  Well, 
after  welcoming  Capt.  &  Mrs.  Palmer,  Mrs.  Meade 
and  Miss  Milllgan  to  the  shores  of  Albion  &  mak- 
ing a  short  tour  with  them  in  England  acting  the 
part  of  an  amiable  &  accomplished  courier  by  day 
&  a  fascinating  entertainer  in  the  even'g,  we  arrived 
here  in  Paris.  Here  plans  were  determined  &  routes 
laid  down.  The  Rhine  &  Switzerland  were  to  be 
visited  first,  then  Milan,Venice  &  Florence.  "Hold !" 
cried  I,  "I'm  not  a  young  man  of  ten  thousand  a 
year  that  can  aff"ord  both  the  time  &  the  money  to 
go  where  I  list;  my  future  shelves  are  to  be  stored 
with  bread  &  cheese  earned  by  the  toil  of  my 
brain,  &  although  I  would  gladly  cull  in  such  fair 
company  the  flowers  of  the  Rhine,  dreamily  gaze 
with  you  at  its  vineclad  hills,  &  ruined  castles, 
haunted  with  legends  of  hoary  eld,  or  hand  in 
hand  skip  lightly  o'er  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc, 
yet  duty  to  myself  &  faithfulness  to  the  purpose 
for  which  I  came  abroad  prompts  me  to  suggest 
that  I  ought  to  remain  in  Paris  &  do  all  in  my  power 
for  three  livelong  weeks  to  acquire  French  volu- 
bility &  the  Parisian  accent."  All  eyes  were  wet. 
The   air   was   broken   by   Capt.   Palmer's   manly 


100       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

sobs.  Mrs.  Meade  flung  herself  upon  my  breast 
in  a  flood  of  passionate  tears,  Miss  Milligan  stif- 
fened herself  out  in  her  chair  &  her  shrieks  were 
dreadful.  "Go,"  I  at  last  said,  endeavoring  to 
control  my  emotions  &  to  steady  my  voice,  "go, 
&  visit  &  enjoy  your  Rhines  &  your  Switzerlands, 
dear  friends,  I  stay  here  in  Paris,  but  I  will  not 
leave  you  in  the  blackness  of  despair.  I  will  rejoin 
you  in  Milan!!  we  will  look  over  the  same  Murray 
in  the  galleries  of  Florence!!  we  will  all  float  to- 
gether by  moonlight  in  a  gondola  in  Venice!!!" 
We  all  joined  hands  &  in  the  ecstasy  of  our  joy 
danced  wildly  round  the  centre  table,  &  Capt. 
Palmer  ordered  up  mineral  water  &  ground  nuts  & 
we  had  an  even'g  of  it.  / 

Of  course  at  the  bottom  of  the  foregoing  well 
you  can  see  the  glimmering  of  truth.  My  reasons 
for  the  present  step  were  all  cogent  &  my  logic 
faultless,  &  all  approved  of  it  although  they  ex- 
pressed most  sincere  regrets  at  having  to  part  com- 
pany with  me  even  for  a  single  day.  For  my  part 
I  am  conscious  that  I  have  made  a  real  sacrifice 
for  a  real  advantage.  I  would  give  a  good  deal  to 
review  many  of  the  scenes  which  they  are  about  to 
see,  but  three  good  sound  weeks  all  to  myself  will 
prove  of  immense  utility  to  me  in  my  present  cal- 
low state  of  French.  It's  all  very  well  to  say,  Oh, 
you  can  study  French  any  time  when  you  get  home, 
but  I  know  that  I  shan't  when  I  get  home;  there 
will  be  other  &  more  urgent  calls  upon  my  time,  & 
if  I  don't  read  a  quantity  of  French  literature  now, 


TOWARDS  HOME  loi 

it  will  be  a  closed  book  to  me,  if  not  forever  at 
least  for  so  long  a  time  that  I  may  have  lost  all 
relish  for  it. 

To  his  Family 

Paris,  Oct.  Sth,  '56 

,  .  .  My  pen  sticks  to  the  paper.  I  hate  to  take 
it  off  —  this  letter  finished  &  Europe  seems  over  & 
the  dream  closed;  already  I  have  lost  all  identity 
with  the  H.  H.  F.  of  Munich,  &  I  am  quite  sure  that 
I  have  never  been  in  College,  but  only  heard  it 
graphically  described.  With  regard  to  home  alone 
do  I  feel  myself  unchanged.  There  alone  does  my 
foot  hold  firm.  .  .  . 

Dear  Father,  Mother,  Annis,  Will    &    Frank. 
Good-bye  till  we  meet  in  three  weeks  — 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  SANITARY  COMMISSION 

When  Furness  landed  in  New  York  early  in 
November,  1856,  he  returned  to  a  country  less 
tranquil  than  any  he  had  visited  during  his  two 
years  of  foreign  travel.  Outwardly,  doubtless  there 
was  little  to  indicate  the  gathering  storm-clouds, 
and  yet  few  were  so  oblivious  to  the  trend  of  human 
events  as  not  to  feel  it  brewing  in  the  air.  No- 
where in  the  country  could  its  coming  have  been 
more  prophetically  felt  than  at  his  father's  house 
on  Pine  Street,  Philadelphia,  whither  he  first  turned 
his  steps.  To  this  very  house,  as  to  a  haven  of  rest 
and  sympathy,  had  come  Charles  Sumner,  earlier 
in  the  year,  still  weak  and  bruised  after  the  assault 
upon  him  in  the  Senate  Chamber;  already  the  Uni- 
tarians of  Philadelphia  had  come  to  look  upon  the 
elder  Furness  not  only  as  their  kindly,  upright  min- 
ister, but  also  as  an  impassioned  leader  in  the  ever- 
increasing  society  of  Abolitionists.  "Ah,  that  dread 
subject  of  Abolition!"'  wrote  Horace  Howard  Fur- 
ness fifty  years  later;  "It  was  the  touchstone  of 
this  congregation!  It  was  the  fan  which  thoroughly 
purged  the  floor,  scattering  the  chaff  and  gathering 
the  wheat  into  a  garner.  How  my  poor  father,  with 
his  intense  love  of  gentle  peace  and  confiding  re- 

1  Historical  Address  delivered  at  the  First  Unitarian  Church  of 
Philadelphia,  January  12,  1908. 


ABOLITION  103 

pose,  agonized  over  it!  .  .  .  Even  though  death  for 
himself  and  starvation  for  his  family  were  the  pen- 
alty, he  must  scream  out,'  Lo !  here  am  I ! ' .  .  .  When 
from  the  wording  of  the  text  the  congregation  be- 
came aware  that  in  the  sermon  there  would  be  im- 
passioned pleadings  for  the  slave  and  eloquent  ad- 
jurations to  guard  liberty  and  the  rights  of  man, 
then  would  fall  a  pin-drop  silence,  then  the  air 
was  charged  with  the  trembling  apprehension  of 
unknown  consequences,  broken  suddenly,  at  the 
mention  from  the  pulpit  of  'African  Slavery,'  by 
the  opening  and  slamming  of  a  pew-door,  and  the 
furious  stamping  through  the  aisle  to  the  exit, 
sometimes  followed  in  a  few  minutes  by  a  second 
and  a  third.  .  .  .  Then  my  poor  father's  face  would 
grow  white  to  the  lips,  but  still  his  voice  would 
continue  to  plead  unfalteringly.  .  .  .  There  were 
few,  very  few  of  the  early  Abolitionists  who  had 
not  schooled  themselves  to  await  a  martyr's  death. 
I  know  it  was  my  father's  anticipation. . . .  Once  his 
peril  seemed  to  others  so  nigh  that  one  or  two  of  his 
devoted  friends,  living  in  Germantown,  came  to 
his  Church  on  Sunday  with  loaded  pistols  in  their 
pockets  to  defend  him  to  the  uttermost."  To  such 
an  atmosphere,  charged  with  the  threatening  tem- 
pest, Horace  Howard  Furness  returned  in  1856. 

But  when  time  throws  all  which  is  not  pertinent 
to  history  into  a  low  relief  beside  the  outstanding 
events,  it  is  difficult  for  us  to  realize  that  the  hum- 
bler course  of  daily  life  flows  on.  For  it  is  not 
vouchsafed  those  who  live  in  times  pregnant  with 


I 


104       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

history  to  stand  calmly  at  one  side  and  let  the  great 
events  pass  in  review;  so  it  was  upon  Furness's 
return;  even  while  his  father  was  from  the  pulpit 
denouncing  slavery,  he  was  seeking  a  profession. 
He  had  left  for  Europe  with  no  definite  plan  for 
the  future:  he  came  back  with  maturer  judgment 
and  a  determination  to  study  law.  So  the  year 
1857  found  him  in  the  office  of  the  Hon.  Wil- 
liam Meredith,  the  prominent  Philadelphia  lawyer, 
studying  for  the  bar  during  the  days,  tutoring  and 
giving  lessons  in  foreign  languages  in  the  evenings 
that  he  might  not  prove  a  burden  financially  toi 
his  parents.  In  May,  1858,  he  became  engaged  to 
Helen  Kate  Rogers,  the  daughter  of  Evans  Rog- 
ers, a  successful  hardware  merchant  of  Philadel- 
phia, to  whom  he  was  married  two  years  later. 
She  was  a  girl  of  infinite  charm,  of  unaffected  re- 
finement, and  between  her  and  Horace  Howard 
Furness  there  existed  many  and  strong  bonds  of 
mutual  sympathy  and  understanding  and  the  im- 
perishable bonds  of  deep  love.  It  is  not  fitting  that 
our  hands  should  throw  wide  the  door  of  private 
sanctuaries:  time  and  grief  have  rendered  them 
inviolate.  Some  of  the  letters  here  pubHshed  give 
us  glimpses  within,  but  further  than  this  we  may 
not  trespass.  Sufficient  is  it  to  know  that  no  shadow 
ever  marred  the  calm  tranquillity  of  their  married 
life;  their  happiness  was  infinite.  When  the  great 
shadow  fell  in  1883  it  left  the  husband  a  memory 
which  never  faded,  a  grief  which  time  and  work 
never  softened. 


CALLED  TO  THE  BAR  105 

After  two  years  of  study,  Furness  was  called  to 
the  Philadelphia  Baron  November  19,  1859,  and 
immediately  moved  into  his  own  office  where  he 
took  up  the  profession.  Even  in  his  first  month  as  a 
Counsellor-at-Law  great  events  began  to  crowd 
around  him;  for  a  time  the  central  figure  was  John 
Brown.  The  raid  at  Harper's  Ferry  had  occurred  in 
October  and  its  leader  had  been  tried  and  found 
guilty;  he  was  sentenced  to  be  executed  on  the 
2nd  of  December.  Feeling  ran  high  among  the 
Abolitionists  of  Philadelphia  and  it  is  reflected  in 
an  entry  in  one  of  Furness's  journals: 

"December  2nd,  1859.  John  Brown's  last  night 
alive.  What  a  dreadful  time.  Nor  can  I  analize  my 
feelings.  My  reason  is  a  hundred  times  convinced 
that  he  is  really  the  man  of  all  Americans  to  be 
more  envied  than  commiserated.  .  .  .  Where  will  it 
end  ?  I  feel  that  with  the  twelfth  stroke  of  tonight's 
bell  this  union  or  slavery  ceases.  Perhaps  I  may 
never  live  to  trace  the  connected  chain  of  events, 
but  that  some  future  Tacitus  with  keen-sighted 
vision  will  mark  the  second  of  December  as  the 
Era  I  have  not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt." 

The  following  day  a  turbulent  public  prayer 
meeting  was  held  in  Philadelphia  at  the  hour  when 
in  Virginia  John  Brown  was  hanged.  Both  Fur- 
ness and  his  father  took  an  active  part  in  it  and  de- 
spite the  eff"orts  of  some  Southern  Medical  students 
to  break  the  meeting  up,  it  was  brought  to  a  suc- 
cessful termination.  But  Furness  has  an  even  more 
sombre  event  to  witness  in  connection  with  the 
hanging  of  John  Brown: 


io6       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

"It  was  when  we  were  awaiting  the  train  which 
was  bearing  northward  the  heroic  martyr's  body 
after  it  had  been  cut  down  from  the  gallows  at 
Harper's  Ferry.  The  Southern  trains  then  entered 
the  city  at  Broad  and  Prime  Streets.  Traffic  and 
travel  on  that  route  from  Virginia  was  suspended 
during  some  hours  to  give  swift  passage  to  a  freight 
car  bearing  its  tragic  freight,  with  a  single  car  at- 
tached bearing  John  Brown's  widow  and  Hector 
Tyndale.  A  large  and  excited  crowd,  which  the 
police  had  difficulty  in  controlling,  gathered  and 
jostled  at  every  opening  of  the  large  station,  into 
which  there  was  no  one  admitted  but  Mr.  Miller 
McKim,  my  father,  and  myself  —  these,  with 
Mayor  Henry  and  the  Chief  of  Police,  were  alone 
in  that  vast,  cold,  silent  station  (there  may  have 
been  one  or  two  others,  but  I  do  not  remember 
them).  The  train  was  an  hour  late,  and  that 
weary,  weary  hour  I  walked  with  my  poor  father 
on  my  arm  up  and  down  that  long  echoing  plat- 
form. I  dared  only  now  and  then  to  look  into  his 
blanched  face.  Occasionally  a  few  words  were 
exchanged  with  Mr.  McKim,  whose  face  was  as 
white  as  my  father's.  .  .  . 

"At  last  in  the  far  distance  we  discerned  the 
train,  and  silently  awaited  its  gradual  drawing  in  to 
the  station.  As  soon  as  it  came  to  a  stop.  Hector 
Tyndale  alighted.  Never  can  I  forget  theexcitement 
under  which  that  brave,  gallant  fellow  laboured. 
He  rushed  to  my  father,  exclaiming,  and  waving 
his  arms,  'A  miracle  has  happened!  Dr.  Furness,  a 


JOHN  BROWN'S  BODY  107 

miracle  has  happened!  The  earth  never  opened  to 
swallow  up  those  fiends!'  'Control  yourself,  my 
boy.  Calm  yourself,'  said  my  father,  putting  his 
hand  gently  on  his  shoulder.  Then  we  entered  the 
freight  car,  and  there  on  the  floor  lay  the  long,  rough 
box  containing  John  Brown's  body,  just  as  it  was 
when  cut  down  from  the  gallows.  A  consultation  was 
held  and  it  was  decided,  in  view  of  the  intense  ex- 
citement of  the  crowds  on  all  sides  of  the  station, 
not  to  take  the  body  to  an  undertaker's  as  had  been 
at  first  arranged.  The  Mayor  and  the  Chief  of  Police 
dreaded  an  outbreak  of  the  mob,  which  might  prove 
to  be  with  great  difficulty  controlled.  Accordingly 
the  crowd  outside  were  deceived  by  a  closely 
guarded,  empty  hearse  which  was  rapidly  driven 
away.  And  then,  when  all  was  quiet,  the  box  was 
placed  in  a  furniture  car,  and  taken  to  Walnut 
Street  wharf,  on  the  way  northward  to  its  eternal 
rest  at  North  Elba."  .  .  . 

All  the  lamentable  events  connected  with  John 
Brown  made  clear  the  path  towards  right  and  Abo- 
lition which  hitherto  the  elder  Furness  had  pointed 
out  to  his  congregation,  blinded  by  ignorance  and 
prejudice.  The  members  of  his  church  hence- 
forth supported  him  unquestioningly;  no  longer 
did  pew-doors  slam  when  "African  Slavery"  was 
mentioned;  his  stand  upon  Abolition  became  their 
stand;  his  voice  raised  in  denouncing  the  slave- 
owner became  their  voice.  Such  unqualified  support 
fed  the  flame  of  William  Henry  Furness's  opposi- 
tion to  slavery.   His  sermons  of  the  early  days  of 


io8       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

elghteen-sixty  showed  how  completely  he  surren- 
dered himself,  heart  and  soul,  to  the  cause;  they 
were  published  in  the  newspapers  of  the  North  and 
West;  they  were  read  wherever  such  denouncements 
were  tolerated.  His  name  won  high  rank  among  the 
prominent  Abolitionists  of  the  day;  his  aid  was 
given  in  assisting  fugitive  slaves  to  escape;  his  be- 
neficent activities  in  connection  with  the  Under- 
ground Railroad  drew  him  throughout  the  year 
close  to  the  centre  of  the  breaking  storm. 

In  the  midst  of  the  solemn  march  of  the  great 
events  of  i860,  Horace  Howard  Furness  was 
elected  a  member  of  The  Shakspere  Society  of 
Philadelphia.  This  incident,  apparently  so  trivial, 
so  dwarfed  in  the  obscurity  and  shadows  of  the 
Rebellion,  appears  in  the  light  of  later  years  as  a 
turning-point  of  Furness's  life.  Not  that  his  asso- 
ciation with  the  "Shakspere  Apostles"  (for  so  the 
society  termed  their  members  at  that  time)  was 
the  sole  contributing  cause  which  inspired  his  in- 
terest in  the  dramatist.  Far  earlier  than  this,  Mrs. 
Kemble's  readings  had  opened  for  him  the  vista 
of  the  plays.  A  card  of  hers  on  which  she  had  writ- 
ten, "Admit  Mr.  Furness  to  all  readings,"  had  been 
an  Inestimable  gift;  he  never  missed  one  since  his 
fourteenth  year.  This  was  the  dawn  of  his  love  for 
Shakespeare;  but  the  Shakspere  Society  was  the 
fountain-head  of  the  "New  Variorum."  Although 
he  did  not  begin  the  work  upon  the  first  volume, 
Romeo  Iff  Juliet,  until  1865,  the  plan  of  the  work 
was  forming  even  in  his  first  year  of  membership 


THE  SHAKSPERE  SOCIETY         109 

in  this  Society.  In  their  critical  readings  of  the 
plays  the  members  used  the  Variorum  edition 
of  1 82 1.  They  found  it  inadequate:  so  much 
Shakespearean  commentary  had  collected  since  its 
pubhcation,  that  a  full  and  up-to-date  study  was 
difficult.  Thus  was  it  that  the  necessity  of  the 
Society  and  the  zeal  of  one  of  its  youngest  members 
made  the  happy  union  whereof  the  "New  Vario- 
rum" was  born.  The  first  step,  as  related  in  his  own 
words,  is  interesting:  ^  "I  made  a  mighty  variorum 
Hamlet  cutting  out  the  notes  of  five  or  six  editions 
besides  the  Variorum  of  1821  and  pasting  them  on 
a  page  with  a  little  rivulet  of  text.  'Twas  a  pon- 
derous book  of  quarto  size  and  eight  or  nine  inches 
thick.  .  .  .  But  the  work  revealed  to  me  that  it 
was  high  time  to  begin  a  new  Variorum,  that  we 
might  start  afresh.  We  were  constantly  threshing 
old  straw."  So  it  was  that  this  small  idea  through  a 
full  half-century  bore  the  fruit  of  his  labours:  the 
chief  plays  of  Shakespeare,  in  sixteen  large  volumes, 
the  fame  whereof  is  acclaimed  wherever  Shake- 
speare is  studied. 

In  June,  i860,  having  established  an  increasing 
law  practice,  he  was  married  by  his  father  in  the 
Unitarian  Church.  The  young  couple  spent  the 
summer  on  a  farm  at  Wallingford,  a  quiet  wayside 
station  only  a  dozen  miles  from  Philadelphia.  They 
fell  in  love  with  the  neighbouring  country-side,  so 
that  the  happy  days  of  that  summer  wove  a  charm 
about  them  which  turned  their  hearts  and  their 
steps  thither  when  the  war  was  done. 

*  Extract  from  letter  to  W.  J.  Rolfe.  See  vol.  ri,  p.  54. 


no       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

The  years  between,  however,  were  destined  to 
be  troublous  and  unhappy;  with  the  outbreak  of 
hostiHties  in  the  spring  of  1 86i ,  Furness  volunteered 
for  the  army.  He  was  rejected,  to  his  abiding 
chagrin,  by  every  branch  on  account  of  his  deaf- 
ness, an  infirmity  which  at  that  time  he  began  to 
remark.  He  soon  found  service,  nevertheless,  in 
the  embryonic  Sanitary  Commission.  There  was  no 
efficient  organization  such  as  the  Red  Cross,  then 
in  existence.  The  Crimean  War  had  demonstrated 
the  need  of  a  proper  medical  and  nursing  staff  in 
connection  with  the  armies.  But  the  Rebellion 
followed  too  closely  on  the  heels  of  the  Crimean  War 
for  methods  to  have  been  formulated  in  the  United 
States  to  supply  this  need.  Whatever  was  accom- 
plished was  done  by  separate  and  very  exclusive 
state  organizations,  and  their  only  ambition  was  to 
see  their  own  troops  supplied  with  the  few  com- 
forts which  lay  in  their  power  to  give.  The  corps 
of  army  surgeons  was  incredibly  undermanned;  on 
the  eve  of  every  large  engagement  volunteers  were 
called  to  help  the  doctors  in  ministering  to  the  men. 
Even  the  hospitals  in  the  larger  cities  lacked  the 
facilities  for  obtaining  the  simplest  necessities  such 
as  towels,  socks,  blankets,  and  writing-paper.  If 
was  in  helping  to  reduce  this  chaos  that  Horace 
Howard  Furness  found  his  place.  The  work  was 
not  heroic,  not  spectacular,  but  it  was  none  the 
less  incalculably  valuable.  The  first  year  of  the 
war  he  spent  in  Philadelphia,  helping  to  organize 
the  Sanitary  Commission  in  that  city  and  to  effect 


THE  SANITARY  COMMISSION      in 

the  smooth  running  of  its  complicated  machinery. 
In  the  autumn  of  1862,  however,  the  army  sur- 
geons attached  to  McClellan's  army  sent  out  a 
call  for  aides  at  the  hospitals  in  the  towns  and 
villages  near  the  front.  Thither  Furness  went  with 
his  friend  Atherton  Blight.  The  letters  to  his  wife 
that  follow  here  tell  their  own  story  of  his  activities 
from  September,  1862,  till  the  following  spring: 
how  at  Sharpsburg  and  Frederick  he  assisted  in 
every  way  in  the  hospitals,  how  the  Secretary  of 
the  Sanitary  Commission  believed  he  could  render 
greater  service  by  visiting  the  smaller  cities  of  the 
North  urging  further  contribution  of  money  and 
supplies  to  the  Commission,  and  how  he  visited 
New  England,  New  York,  and  Pennsylvania  for 
this  purpose,  accomplishing  much  good. 

To  his  Wife 

Sharpshoro,  Sept.  z<,th,  1862 

I  BROKE  off  my  letter  yesterday  in  a  great  hurry 
owing  to  the  ambulance  having  driven  up  to  take 
me  to  a  hospital  some  two  miles  off  where  the  Com- 
mission want  some  investigations  made.  The  road 
lay  directly  in  the  path  of  the  frightful  battle^  of  a 
week  ago.  The  stand  was  made  by  the  rebels  first 
in  a  cornfield  &  then  in  a  wood  at  the  crest  of  a  hill. 
I  came  to  the  wood  first.  It  was  ghastly  and  ghostly, 
although  all  the  dead  have  been  buried,  yet  every 
tree  &  branch  proclaims  deadly  struggle;  guns, 
bayonets,    cartouche    boxes,    haversacks    lay    all 

*  Antietara. 


112       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

around  in  frightful  confusion,  huge  branches  of 
trees  were  twisted  off  and  hanging  by  sphnters, 
while  the  trunks  were  everywhere  scarred  by  minie 
balls.  I  must  reserve  description  for  word  of  mouth. 
I  can  only  give  you  the  barest  skeleton  of  my  day. 
I  went  to  the  hospital  &  reached  there  as  it  was 
coming  on  to  rain,  &  had  a  furious  fight  with  two 
rebel  women  &  two  men  for  not  allowing  us  to 
bring  the  poor  wounded  into  their  house  into  rooms 
unoccupied.  Whew!  I  emptied  a  whole  hogshead 
of  abuse  &  wrath  on  them  &  told  them  we'd  take 
the  lower  stories  &  they  might  go  up  into  the  sec- 
ond story,  &  then  if  we  wanted  that  we'd  take  it 
too  &  they  might  go  up  on  to  the  roof,  &  we'd  fol- 
low them  there  if  need  were  &  they  might  jump  off 
&  they  actually  cried  &  tears  rolled  down  their 
cheeks  at  the  thought  of  getting  their  bare  floors 
dirty.  I  told  them  I  had  never  seen  such  monsters, 
&c.,  &c.  They  said  they  were  good  Union  until  I  so 
soundly  berated  them,  when  they  showed  their 
fangs  &  said  they  wished  the  Confederates  had 
got  us  all.  .  .  . 

To  his  Wife 

Frederick,  Oct.  $,  1862 
.  .  .  The  first  thing  that  I  did  yesterday  after 
breakfast  (by  the  way,  although  I  passed  the  night 
on  the  old  nubby  settee  I  slept  much  better  than 
previously  and  only  awoke  three  times  from  dreams 
of  the  North  Pole)  was  to  go  to  the  storeroom  and 
get  a  lot  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  towels  and  divide 


WORK  AT  FREDERICK  113 

them  between  two  hospitals  that  contained  that 
number  of  patients,  and  yet  had  but  fifteen  towels 
all  told  In  both  of  them.  .  .  . 

After  this  I  went  to  the  Storeroom  &  loaded  the 
wagon  with  the  three  barrels  of  Porter  &  some 
pantaloons  &  coats,  &  started  off  to  deliver  them 
at  the  three  principal  Hospitals;  it  took  a  great 
deal  of  time  because  first  of  the  difficulty  in  finding 
the  Chief  Surgeons  whose  signatures  it  is  neces- 
sary to  have  on  the  receipt  for  so  precious  an  ar- 
ticle, and  secondly,  when  found  two  out  of  three 
surgeons  were  engaged  in  operations  so  that  I  had 
to  wait  until  they  were  through.  At  the  General 
Hospital  while  waiting  for  the  surgeon  I  went  into 
the  Dead  House  &  there  saw  the  body  of  a  rebel 
Capt.  Nix  of  a  Georgia  Regiment.  He  was  cer- 
tainly a  very  handsome  young  man;  quite  a  sim- 
ple operation  upon  the  shoulder  joint  had  proved 
fatal  to  him.  The  fatality  among  the  rebels  is  re- 
markable. "If,"  as  the  surgeon  said  to  me,  "you 
don't  perform  a  necessary  operation  upon  them 
they  must  die,  and  if  you  so  much  as  touch  them 
with  the  knife  they're  sure  to  die."  The  Porter  was 
most  thankfully  received;  it  is  far  more  precious 
here  than  either  brandy  or  sherry.  On  my  return 
from  this  business  I  went  to  the  Storeroom  to  take 
an  account  of  stock,  &  no  sooner  had  I  finished  than 
on  my  way  home  past  the  Railroad  Depot  quite 
a  crowd  had  collected  there  to  see  Pres't  Lin- 
coln start  off  on  his  return  to  Washington  from 
a  visit  to  Sharpsburg  &  McClellan;  as  my  luck 


114       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

would  have  it  he  &  I,  or  rather  me  and  the  Presi- 
dent, arrived  at  the  same  spot  at  the  same  moment, 
escorted  by  some  fine  cavalry,  not  one  of  whom  but 
was  a  more  striking  looking  man  than  his  most 
serene  Excellency.  The  soldiers  crowded  round  his 
wagon,  an  open  chaise,  shaking  both  his  hands 
with  such  enthusiasm  as  to  almost  tumble  his  hat 
over  his  eyes;  he  got  into  the  car,  which  stood  into 
the  street  (just  as  the  Germantown  cars  "dump" 
their  passengers  in  Ninth  Street) ,  &  walking  through 
it  emerged  on  the  platform  at  the  end,  &  there,  in 
answer  to  loud  calls  for  a  speech,  spoke  a  few  words 
of  a  very  fagged-out  &  wearied  tone,  with  no  stir- 
ring note  of  freedom  or  Liberty  in  them,  but  that 
we  should  always  remember  that  our  opponents 
were  our  brothers  in  error,  &  that  our  descendants 
&  their  descendants  for  a  thousand  generations 
must  live  under  that  glorious  old  Union  established 
by  Washington  &  his  compeers.  I  was  much  disap- 
pointed because  right  above  his  head  the  windows 
of  a  hospital  were  full  of  pale,  haggard  faces  of 
men  whose  blood  had  soaked  into  the  battlefield  & 
who  should  have  had  some  few  words  of  comfort  & 
assurance  that  their  sufferings  &  agony  had  not 
been  in  vain.  At  the  close  of  his  speech,  some  one 
shouted  out,  "Now  you've  got  little  Mack,  Uncle 
Abe,  stick  to  him. "... 

To  his  Wife 

Frederick,  Oct.  lo,  1862 

My  journal   is  not  of  so  interesting  a  character 

as  when  I  was  more  busily  engaged  at  Sharps- 


A  GERMAN  MOTHER  115 

burg.  I  say  more  "busily,"  although  I  am  in  re- 
ality as  busy  here  as  there,  but  it  is  in  a  very 
different  style.  I  have  more  running  about  here, 
until,  when  evening  comes,  my  feet  feel  as  though 
they  would  almost  drop  off.  .  .  . 

Yesterday  after  dinner  Charles,  our  driver, 
came  in  &  said  that  there  was  a  poor  woman  sit- 
ting on  the  front  steps  crying.  I  at  once  went  out 
&  found  that  it  was  a  poor  heart-broken  German 
mother  from  New  York  who  had  come  on  in  search 
of  her  wounded  son;  she  had  just  reached  here 
about  an  hour  before  &  had  instantly  begun  her 
weary,  sad  task.  She  had  only  asked  timidly  at 
the  door  of  one  or  two  hospitals,  &  receiving  a 
careless  negative  from  an  indifferent  sentry  or 
nurse  her  desolation  and  woe  seemed  to  overpower 
her,  &  she  was  crying  in  all  the  bitterness  of  a 
Mother's  grief.  I  told  her  to  cheer  up  &  that  if  he 
was  in  Frederick  we'd  find  him;  so  I  started  out 
with  her,  &  around  town  we  went,  and  after  about 
two  hours,  out  of  the  twenty-one  hospitals  we  had 
visited  twenty,  &  I  had  in  my  secret  heart  given  up 
all  hopes  &  was  trying  to  persuade  the  poor  worn 
Mother  that  her  son  had  been  transferred  to  Phila- 
delphia, when  we  approached  the  last  on  the  list.  I 
generally  made  her  wait  outside  while  I  went  in 
&  examined  the  register,  &  how  her  eyes  hung 
upon  my  lips  when  I  came  out  &  even  to  the  very 
last  her  face  was  full  of  hope  until  I  said,  "no;  no 
such  name  as  Charles  Metzger  in  this  hospital,"  & 
then  she'd  hurry  away  almost  in  advance  of  me  in 


ii6       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

her  impatience  to  reach  the  next  hospital,  without 
knowing  where  it  was.  I  walked  fast,  not  only  to 
suit  her  eagerness,  but  the  afternoon  was  waning, 
&  once  I  said  to  her,  "Aren't  you  very  tired?" 
She  had  travelled  night  &  day  from  New  York  & 
had  scarcely  eaten  since  she  left  home.  "Oh,  no," 
said  she,  "I  shall  not  be  tired  when  I  see  my  son." 
At  the  last  hospital,  the  U.S.  Barracks,  on  the 
list  among  the  "  M's  "  there  stood  "Metzger  Charles 
4*''  N.Y."  My  heart  really  beat  quickly  at  the 
sight  of  it,  and  after  receiving  the  accurate  de- 
scriptions of  the  tent  &  ward  where  he  was  to  be 
found,  I  came  out  to  meet  this  intense  yearning 
Mother's  face,  which,  although  quite  plain,  had 
already  begun  to  assume  an  expression  that  strikes 
feelings  lying  deep  down  in  the  heart;  my  face  was 
as  impassive  as  hitherto,  for  I  was  really  afraid  of 
the  effect  upon  her.  "Mrs.  Metzger,"  I  said,  "we 
have  got  to  the  end  of  our  journey."  Quite  Del- 
phic, you  perceive,  in  its  ambiguous  meaning,  but 
my  immobility  of  face  was  all  lost  upon  her  &  she 
clutched  at  the  true  meaning  &  seizing  me  right  by 
the  arm,  ejaculated,  "where  is  he.?  take  me  to 
him!"  "I  shall  not  take  you  to  your  son  until  you 
grow  calmer.  He  lies  in  one  of  those  tents,  &  to  see 
you  so  overcome  as  you  are  now  might  prove  his 
death."  I  kept  the  poor  thing  for  at  least  three 
minutes  waiting  until  I  thought  she'd  rub  her  eyes 
out  in  trying  to  stop  her  tears  &  that  I'd  better 
take  her  in  with  her  eyes  in  her  head  instead  of  in 
her  pocket  handkerchief.    So  I  entered  the  tent  & 


STUART'S  CAVALRY  117 

called  out,  "Is  Charles  Metzger  here?"  No  an- 
swer; I  walked  on  a  few  steps  &  then  repeated  my 
question;  then  there  came,  "Yes,  I'm  here."  I 
turned  round  for  the  Mother;  there  she  stood  a 
few  steps  behind  me,  she'd  caught  sight  of  the 
handsome  face  &  with  arms  outstretched,  she 
cried,  "Mein  sohn,  mein  sohn!"  "Why,  mother!" 
was  all  the  boy  could  say  before  his  mother  was 
covering  his  face  with  kisses.  .  .  . 

To  his  Wife 

Frederick,  Oct.  12,  1862 
...  I  HAVE  a  few  moments  to  spare  while  all  the  rest 
have  gone  to  Church,  &  the  office  is  left  in  grate- 
ful quiet.  One  great  excitement  at  present  is  the 
nearness  of  the  Rebel  cavalry.  Mrs.  Schley,  the 
Dr.'s  sister,  told  us  on  her  way  to  Church  that  at 
the  barracks  firing  could  be  distinctly  heard  & 
that  her  milkman  was  in  a  terrible  state  of  excite- 
ment, asseverating  that  they  passed  in  front  of  his 
house  about  six  or  seven  miles  from  town  this 
morning.  A  man  named  Ashton,  Chief  corre- 
spondent of  the  N.Y.  Herald  came  in  this  morn- 
ing &  said  that  they  —  that  is  Stuart's  Cavalry 
—  had,  five  or  six  miles  from  town,  come  across  a 
company  of  Rush's  Lancers  by  whom  they  were 
mistaken  for  our  own  men,  but  when  the  mistake 
was  discovered  both  parties  retired  in  opposite 
directions.  All  unite  in  saying  that  it  is  Stuart's 
Cavalry  on  their  way  home  from  their  foraging 
tour  into  Pennsylvania.  .  .  . 


ii8       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

When  Dr.  Steiner  returned  the  other  day  from 
a  visit  of  a  few  hours  in  Washington,  he  told  me 
that  the  Master,  as  we  call  Mr.  Olmsted,^  had  some 
special  design  on  me  &  had  written  a  letter  to  me 
directed  to  Father's  care  in  Philadelphia.  The  sub- 
stance of  this  letter,  as  far  as  Dr.  S.  could  learn,  is 
that  the  Master  wishes  me  "to  stump"  country 
towns  in  reference  to  the  wants  &  needs  of  the 
Sanitary  Commission;  that  is,  you  know,  travel 
about  with  big  posters,  hold  meetings  in  school 
houses  &  Lyceums  and  preach  up  the  virtues  & 
necessities  of  the  Sanitary  Commission;  such,  I 
imagine,  is  the  purport  of  this  letter,  for  it  has  not 
yet  come  to  hand,  &  perhaps  you  may  have  al- 
ready read  it,  &  this  is  stale  news  to  you.  Now, 
although  such  a  duty  would  be  excessively  dis- 
tasteful, yet  so  much  respect  have  I  for  the  Master's 
discrimination  of  character  &  power  of  organization 
&  administration  that  his  opinion  is  entitled  to 
great  weight  with  me  &  if  he  thinks  that  I  could  do 
such  a  work  adequately  well  I  ought  not  lightly  to 
turn  my  back  upon  it.  .  ,  . 

To  his  Wife 

Washington,  Oct.  14,  1862 

...  I  PURSUED  my  lonely  way  to  this   wretched 

place,  got  into  the  passenger  cars  at  the  station 

1  Frederick  Law  Olmsted,  Secretary  and  later  Chief  Executive 
of  the  Sanitary  Commission.  Before  his  appointment  to  this  office  he 
had  been  City  Architect  of  New  York  and  Superintendent  of  Central 
Park.  He  was  possessed  of  remarkable  executive  ability  and  much 
of  the  success  of  the  Sanitary  Commission  was  due  to  his  untiring 
devotion. 


FREDERICK  LAW  OLMSTED        119 

&  alighted  at  Wlllard's  at  about  half  past  one, 
washed  and  dressed  and  took  my  dinner  at  two 
o'clock  for  despite  my  dreariness  I  was  very  hun- 
gry having  had  but  one  slice  of  bread  for  break- 
fast, &  then  went  around  to  see  the  Master.  I 
was  lucky  in  securing  an  immediate  audience,  for 
he  is  as  hard  to  see  as  the  President  of  the  U.S. 
He  welcomed  me  kindly  &  said  he  was  very  glad  that 
I  had  come  on  for  he  was  on  the  point  of  tele- 
graphing me  to  do  so,  but  hesitated  lest  it  might 
appear  too  peremptory.  We  then  talked  over  the 
whole  matter.  He  In  a  measure  assented  to  my 
view  of  it  that  public  meetings  in  the  principal 
cities  is  not  the  thing  most  needed  at  present,  but 
that  conferences  with  the  various  organizations  in 
the  secondary  towns,  &  the  starting  of  fresh  or- 
ganizations In  the  lesser  towns  were  more  to  the 
point  at  present.  You  see,  there  is  an  evil  threaten- 
ing the  Sanitary  Commission  &  thereby  the  real 
good  of  our  army,  this  is  the  organization  of  state 
societies,  for  the  sole  relief  of  soldiers  of  one  par- 
ticular state.  In  the  first  place,  it  Is  fostering  state 
lines,  which  as  far  as  the  Army  is  concerned  should 
all  be  broken  down.  Ours  Is  the  Army  of  the  United 
States,  &  anything  that  divides  It  into  states 
weakens  the  Union.  .  .  . 

However,  whatever  be  the  ultimate  object  of 
my  mission,  whether  in  big  cities  or  in  villages, 
whether  against  State  Societies  or  for  them,  Mr. 
Olmsted  wants  me  to  remain  here  at  least  a  week, 
busily  loafing,  becoming  acquainted  with  all  the 


120       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

workings  of  this  gigantic  charity,  studying  statis- 
tics, examining  their  warehouse,  looking  over  their 
books,  boreing  all  its  officers,  tagging  around  after 
medical  inspectors,  visiting  the  hospitals  &  the 
invalids,  which  thing  alone  considering  that  there 
are  nigh  twenty  five  thousand  of  them  here  and  in 
the  vicinity  is,  you  will  imagine,  no  small  job.  .  .  . 

To  his  Wife 

New  Haven,  4  Nov.  1862 
...  I  AM  sitting  in  Mr.  Wayland's  office  waiting  for 
any  inquisitive  ladies  who  may  wish  information  in 
regard  to  the  San.  Com.  I  think  it  highly  improb- 
able that  any  will  come,  but  I  announced  yester- 
day that  I  would  thus  wait  here  for  a  couple  of 
hours  &  here  I  am.  I  dined  yesterday  at  Mr. 
Peletiah  Peril's.  (Phoebus!  what  a  name!) 

After  dinner  I  went  to  the  "Temple"  where 
there  were  about  a  hundred  &  fifty  ladles  assem- 
bled to  whom  I  talked  for  about  three  quarters  of 
an  hour.  I  told  them  what  the  San.  Com.  is  & 
what  it  has  to  do;  told  about  the  Connecticut 
brothers,  the  Mass.  Rebel,  &  Mrs.  Metzger.  They 
shed  tears  abundantly  over  the  two  first,  but  over 
the  last  they  became  melted  into  one  conglomerate 
mass  of  handkerchiefs.  I  broke  into  a  most  earn- 
est appeal  to  them  to  work  their  fingers  to  the 
bone  in  aid  of  the  San.  Com.  and  a  letter  having 
been  handed  to  me  I  closed  by  reading  it  to  them; 
it  contained  an  announcement  from  their  agent, 
Mr.  Walker,  that  he  had  just  received  from  one 


TALKING  FOR  THE  COMMISSION    121 

gentleman  forty  dollars  &  from  another  one  hun- 
dred dollars  to  help  start  the  association;  it  was 
capital,  so  I  told  them,  in  every  sense  of  the  word, 
&  as  I  bowed  myself  out,  eyes  were  drying  &  faces 
were  smiling  and  all  seemed  couleur  de  rose.  They 
made  me  promise  that  I  would  come  back  in  three 
or  four  weeks  &  smile  upon  their  efforts,  .  .  . 

I  leave  for  New  York  this  eve'g  &  shall  go  to  the 
Brevoort  House;  how  long  I  shall  remain  there  I 
don't  know  —  or  what  will  be  my  future  move- 
ments —  I  am  inclined  to  think  New  Hampshire, 
having  heard  from  Boston  that  so  far  N.  Hampshire 
has  done  scarcely  anything.  This  must  be  attended 
to  &  I  know  of  no  one  to  go  but  myself.  Alas!  Alas! 

To  his  Wije 

New  York,  Brevoort  House 

Nov.  s,  1862 

.  .  .  We  reached  New  York  at  a  quarter  before  ten. 
I  then  went  to  the  Sanitary  Rooms,  823  Broadway, 
&  found  that  Mr.  Olmsted  had  left  word  for  me  that 
lie  was  called  out  to  the  Central  Park,  but  that 
Dr.  Bellows^  wished  me  to  come  to  see  him  at  one 
o'clock.  .  .  . 

I  went  back  to  the  room  of  the  San.  Com. 
to  post  my  note  to  you  where  I  found  Olmsted, 
my  valise,  &  letters  from  Nannie  &  Father  & 
Mother.   I  immediately  walked  to  Dr.  B.'s  with 

'  President  of  the  Sanitary  Commission.  He  was  a  Congregational 
clergyman  of  New  York  City  with  a  devoted  following  through  New 
England  and  New  YorL 


122       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

Olmsted  — where  as  soon  as  we  were  seated  the  Rev. 
Dr.  read  us  a  letter  from  Springfield  Mass.  brim 
full  of  the  boss  devil,  ^  horns  &  tail,  full  &  vigorous, 
giving  notice  of  a  public  meeting  to  be  held  in  his 
honor  this  evening.  I  was  for  starting  at  once,  but 
the  train  left  at  one,  &  at  that  instant  the  clocks 
struck  the  first  hour  past  noon,  so  it  was  too  late. 
A  telegram  was  substituted  imploring  them  to  take 
no  action  until  I  could  reach  there  &  confer  with 
the  Committee  &  lay  before  them  most  important 
information. 

I  presented  the  latest  news  from  New  Haven,  & 
my  efforts  were  commended  in  hearty  phrase  by 
the  Rev.  B.  &  Olmsted.  We  discussed  the  times 
&  the  Elections.  O.  is  blue,  B.  is  cheerful;  O.  sees 
hope  in  the  future,  B.  in  the  present.  O.  deals  in 
stubborn  facts,  B.  In  rhetoric.  Don't  let  me  un- 
derrate B.  (you  &  I,  can  see  a  prickly  crown  around 
his  brows)  he  makes  a  most  admirable  President 
of  the  San.  Com.;  without  him  it  would  be  voice- 
less. Olmsted  thinks  &  writes  with  great  labor  & 
slowness.  As  he  told  me  himself  to-day  while  we 
were  lunching  after  our  visit  to  the  Rev.  B.  "others 
write  out  what  they  have  already  thought;  I 
write  in  order  to  think";  then  he  added  after  a 
pause  "you  have  probably  never  read  a  page  of 
mine  that  I  have  not  written  over  twenty  times 
before  it  went  to  print"  —  I  asked  him  if  that  let- 

1  When,  in  these  letters,  Furness  speaks  of  the  "boss  devil,"  he 
refers  to  such  state  organizations  as  were  opposed  to  the  Sanitary 
Commission. 


A  PIG-HEADED  MAYOR  123 

ter  to  Dr.  Bellows  (which  you  copied)  was  not  the 
first  draft.  "  No,"  he  replied,  looking  down,  ashamed, 
"it  was  the  fifth  or  sixth  time."  Isn't  such  per- 
severance &  exactitude  splendid.'*  "Hence,"  he 
said,  "in  order  to  accomplish  as  much  as  other 
men  I  have  to  work  ten  times  as  hard." 

To  his  Wife 

Massasoit  House,  Springfield, 

Nov.  7,  1862 

.  .  .  It's  half  past  ten  &  although  old  dirty  duty 
says  that  I  ought  to  write  my  other  letters  first, 
whock  your  eye  for  that,  I'm  going  to  have  a  little 
chat  with  you  while  my  fire  is  burning  up  and  my 
feet,  which  have  been  wet  ever  so  long,  are  dry- 
ing. .  .  . 

Well,  I've  just  got  through  the  meeting  with  the 
Mayor  and  some  ten  select  men,  gentlemen  of 
Springfield.  The  old  pig-headed  Mayor  proved,  as 
I  told  you  before  tea,  monstrous,  cantankerous, 
full  of  blood  &  fury  &  said  shaking  both  fists  at  the 
same  time,  "if  his  son  was  a-lying  sick  &  neglected 
in  a  hospital  he'd  march  in  there  with  a  file  of  sol- 
diers &  take  him  out  by  main  force.  By  Judas!  he 
would  in  spite  of  your  surgeons  or  your  army  regu- 
lations or  your  Sanatory  Commissions  or  your 
what  not!"  I  let  him  talk  till  his  red  face  grew  a 
few  shades  paler  &  his  wind  gave  out  &  then 
calmly  floored  him  by  asking  him  personally  what 
he  had  done  to  prevent  all  this  misery  by  giving  all 
he  could  &  sacrificing  all  his  personal  luxuries.  As 


124       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

he  is  notoriously  stingy,  this  utteriy  wilted  him  &  I 
rode  over  him  rough-shod,  letting  him  have  it  hot 
&  heavy.  Suffice  to  say,  I  had  it  quite  my  own  way, 
put  knobs  on  the  horns  of  the  boss  devil,  pared  his 
claws,  trimmed  his  lashing  tail  until  he  was  trans- 
formed into  a  very  mild  agent  bearing  his  own  ex- 
penses who  should  visit  the  camps  of  the  Spring- 
field regiments,  not  the  hospitals,  &  see  if  they 
were  badly  off  for  clothes,  &  whether  they  could 
not  be  supplied  by  the  Government.  ,  .  . 

To  his  Wife 

Springfield,  Nov.  lO,  '62 
About  that  meeting  last  eve'g  —  It  was  a  stormy 
night,  or  rather  threatening,  very  wet  &  hugely 
muddy,  so  that  the  Church,  the  largest  in  Spring- 
field, was  not  crowded  as  everyone  said  it  other- 
wise would  have  been;  the  body  of  it  was  full  the 
galleries  were  empty;  there  must  have  been  be- 
tween four  &  five  hundred  present,  full  as  many 
men  as  women.  The  meeting  was  opened  by  a 
hymn  &  a  prayer,  —  the  latter  intensely  orthodox 
in  style  imploring  blessings  on  every  human  being 
absent  &  present,  dead  &  living,  beginning  with 
Adam  &  ending  with  me  in  particular,  "whose 
wise  counsels  were  to  enlighten  them  this  evening." 
Then  I  unfolded  San.  Com.  banner  &  spoke  for  an 
hour  and  a  half.  I  didn't  occupy  the  pulpit,  but 
stood  at  the  side  of  the  Communion  Table.  I  told 
them  about  Gilbert  Cheney,  the  Connecticut 
brothers,  the  Mass.  Rebel  —  I  ended  with  Mrs. 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN  125 

Metzger  whom  in  public  I  call  Brauner.  A  great 
many,  in  fact  all  the  ladies,  cried  over  the  Connec- 
ticut brothers,  but  over  Mrs.  Metzger,  all  fell  to 
work,  the  men  as  vigorously  as  the  women  —  the 
weaker  sniffings  from  the  ladies  &  loud  uncompro- 
mising blowings  from  the  men  almost  drowned  my 
voice  for  several  minutes.  But  seriously,  it  is  grand 
to  see  how  one  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole 
world  kin  &  this  story  of  Mrs.  Metzger  which  ends 
in  purest  joy  always  brings  tears.  I  always  seize 
this  weak  moment  to  implore  them  to  strengthen 
the  arm  of  the  San.  Com.  .... 

To  his  Wife 

Washington,  Nov.  24,  1862 

Willard's,  Monday 

It  is  already  half  past  twelve,  &  I  know  that  you 
will  shake  your  head  if  this  be  a  long  letter,  so  I 
will  hurry  on  as  fast  as  I  can  rattle.  .  .  . 

This  morning  the  ladies,  Mr.  Olmsted,  Mr. 
Knap  &  myself  went  by  invitation  to  the  White 
House  to  have  a  social  chat  with  His  Excellency 
the  President.  I  was  disappointed  beyond  measure. 
The  invitation  was  not  unsolicited;  the  ladies  sent 
the  President  a  note  saying  that  they  would  be 
glad  to  have  an  interview  with  him  &  an  answer 
was  immediately  returned  that  he  would  be  happy 
to  see  them  at  half  past  seven.  So  as  I  have  said 
we  escorted  the  ladies  thither  at  the  hour  named, 
we  were  shown  into  one  of  the  parlors  tawdry  with 
flaming  red  &  gilding,  &  in  a  few  minutes  the 


126       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

President  sauntered  &  shuffled  In,  a  good  deal  bent 
&  his  arms  dangling.  He  went  through  the  intro- 
duction with  a  "How  de  do"  &  a  mechanical 
shake  of  his  huge  hand  to  each.  He  sat  down  & 
entered  into  conversation  with  more  style  of  man- 
ner than  I  had  from  reports  imagined  that  he  was 
capable.  The  ladies  explained  to  him  that  they 
belonged  to  the  Sanitary  Commission  &  wanted 
from  him  a  word  of  encouragement  to  bear  to  the 
ladies  of  the  East  &  West.  He  replied,  "Supposin' 
I  do  give  you  a  word  of  encouragement  &  then 
afterwards  facts  shouldn't  bear  out  your  expecta- 
tions, you'd  be  more  disappointed  than  if  I  hadn't," 
&  then  he  went  right  off  to  talk  about  the  war  & 
the  army.  He  said  that  the  great  difficulty  was 
that  our  army  couldn't  be  got  together;  at  the  bat- 
tle of  Antietam  ninety-three  thousand  men  were 
reported  fit  for  duty  while  the  Army  Rolls  showed 
that  those  same  divisions  contained  one  hundred 
&  eighty  thousand.  Hence  that  one  half  of  our 
army  was  either  sick  or  skulking  &  that  the  trains 
carried  away  from  Washington  as  many  soldiers  as 
they  brought  to  it.  He  said  he  couldn't  find  out 
where  the  leakage  was  but  there  stood  the  fact,  & 
he  then  made  use  of  the  elegant  illustration  that 
"it  was  just  like  trying  to  shovel  fleas,  —  before 
the  shovel  load  fell  the  fleas  were  all  gone"  & 
then  he  wrinkled  up  his  nose  till  it  was  an  acute 
point  &  showing  all  his  front  teeth  gave  a  very 
wheezy  catching  laugh  and  in  his  glee  fell  to 
scratching  himself  on  his  elbows.  .  .  . 


BATTLE  OF  FREDERICKSBURG     127 

He  illustrated  his  remarks  hy  a  great  many  ex- 
amples, giving  with  great  glibness  numbers  & 
dates,  saying  with  great  emphasis  &  energy  that 
"we  none  of  us  had  got  our  heads  down  to  the  war 
&  that  each  man  was  trying  to  carry  it  on  as  com- 
fortably for  himself  as  he  could."  .  .  . 

Of  course  there  were  many  other  things  that  he 
said,  for  we  stayed  nearly  an  hour  &  he  talked 
without  ceasing,  but  these  shall  be  reserved  for 
word  of  mouth. 

Tomorrow  I  go  to  the  Convalescent  Camp  at 
Alexandria.  .  .  . 

To  his  Wife 

Washington,  December  13,  1862 

fVillard's,  Saturday  Eve*g 

About  an  hour  ago  we  received  a  telegram  saying 
that  Rev.  Mr.  Fuller  (Margaret's  brother).  Chap- 
lain of  the  i6th  Mass.  was  killed  on  Thursday  —  & 
that  a  fearful  battle  had  been  raging  all  day.^  .  .  . 
I  am  to  start  tomorrow  with  Dr.  Brink,  a  Sani- 
tary Inspector;  we  go  by  Gov't  Boat,  &  I  have  been 
provided  with  a  horse  &  saddle,  so  that  my  loco- 
motion will  be  independent  when  I  get  there.  We 
have  this  eve'g  chartered  a  steamer  which  is  now 
loading  with  stores  from  our  warehouse  &  which 
will  reach  Acquia  ^  tomorrow  afternoon.  The  ex- 
citement here  is  great  &  the  atmosphere  is  already 
beginning  to  have  that  stifling  feeling  which  it 
had  as  I  approached  Frederick.    Tomorrow,  it  is 

*  At  Fredericksburg.  '  General  Burnside's  base  of  supplies. 


128       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

thought  will  prove  the  eventful  day,  though  I 
shouldn't  be  much  surprised  if  the  enemy  retreated 
&  we  hold  off  for  a  day  or  two  for  a  breathing  spell. 
It  sickens  me  &  I  shudder  at  the  anticipations  of 
the  dreadful  scenes  which  will  probably  meet  my 
eyes  tomorrow  night.  Oh,  if  this  war  were  only 
ended  &  I  could  get  home  to  your  arms  &  our  dear 
fireside!  .  .  . 

To  his  Wife 

Acquia,  December  i^th,  1862 
San.  Com.  House,  Sunday  Eve*g 

After  six  or  seven  long  hours  we  reached  the 
wharf  here  at  Acquia  Creek  &  were  welcomed  by 
Dr.  Andrew  &  as  it  was  too  late  to  proceed  with 
any  advantage  we  concluded  to  remain  here  to- 
night. There  is  no  news  from  the  front  but  what  is 
rather  disheartening,  in  fact  I  may  say  very  dis- 
heartening, as  far  as  I  can  see  it  is  a  downright  de- 
feat, &  our  army  may  be  here  a  month.  I  have  just 
been  interrupted  by  a  Mr.  Coffin,  who  says  that  he 
was  with  the  Cavalry  under  Gen.  Bayard  all  of 
yesterday  &  that  they  were  not  in  the  action  & 
would  probably  not  be.  Gen.  Bayard  was  killed  by 
a  chance  shot  while  he  was  sitting  under  a  tree. 
Mr.  C.  saw  the  Lancers  frequently  &  believes  that 
they  this  morning  returned  to  this  side.  I  at  once 
telegraphed  Father  &  hope  that  the  relief  counter- 
balanced the  shock  of  a  telegram.^   It  was  an  inex- 

*  Frank  Furness,  H.  H.  F.'s  brother.  He  was  at  this  time  Lieuten- 
ant in   the  Pennsylvania  Cavalry.    Later  promoted  to  captain,  he 


AFTER  FREDERICKSBURG         129 

pressible  relief  to  me  &  so  if  they  had  not  other- 
wise heard  it  must  be  to  them. 

But,  a  train  of  wounded  soldiers  has  just  been 
brought  in  &  I  ought  to  go  &  see  what  I  can  do  for 
them.  This  will  go  up  tomorrow  by  our  messenger, 
the  biggest  man  I  ever  saw  not  on  exhibition;  he  is 
six  feet  seven  inches  high.  I  shall  go  tomorrow  to 
Falmouth  &  try  to  see  Frank  on  the  way;  if  success- 
ful I  shall  telegraph  the  fact  to  Father  &  Mother. 

To  his  Wife 

Acquia,  Tuesday,  Dec.  1 6,  1862 
Dear:  I  am  lying  flat  on  the  ground  in  a  little  shel- 
ter tent,  writing  by  the  light  of  a  flaming  candle 
just  to  let  you  know  that  I  am  perfectly  well.  I 
scratched  off"  to  you  last  night  the  fact  that  I  had 
seen  Frank,  it  was  but  for  a  few  minutes,  but  he 
was  overjoyed  to  see  me  &  I  certainly  was  as  glad 
to  see  him  &  never  did  I  see  him  looking  so  well. 
My  telegram  to  Father  of  Sunday  eve'g  libels  the 
Lancers,  he  says,  for  though  not  in  the  fight  they 
were  under  fire  the  whole  day  &  stood  nobly.  This 
battle  has  been  sickening.  Elliot  &  myself  this 
morning  made  out  the  first  correct  amounts  of 
killed  &  wounded  &  missing;  it  sums  up  sixteen 
thousand.  The  enemy's  loss  can't  be  over  five 
thousand.  So  much  for  direct  attacks  and  the  no 
strategy  dodge.   The  heroism  of  our  men  has  been 

served  throughout  the  War  with  distinguished  valour,  and  was 
awarded  the  Congressional  Medal  of  Honour  (which  is  a  distinction 
bestowed  on  very  few)  for  marked  courage  under  fire. 


130       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

glorious  throughout,  &  their  discipline  unexcelled. 
Where  then  does  the  fault  lie?  In  Washington. 
Every  man  of  our  army  is  back  across  this  side  of 
the  river:  Frank,  of  course,  with  the  rest,  though  I 
have  not  seen  him  to-day;  I  tried  to,  but  Gen. 
Franklin  having  of  course  changed  his  Head  Qrs. 
from  where  they  were  yesterday  &  as  the  Lancers 
are  acting  as  his  Body  Guard  they  have  of  course 
moved  too.  The  men  were  moving  all  night  & 
their  tramps  &  calls  awoke  me  as  they  threw  down 
their  knapsacks  right  outside  this  little  tent  &  in 
the  morning  when  I  awoke  they  were  all  around  us 
&  we  were  in  the  midst  of  a  retreated  &  defeated 
army.  Gen.  Hunt,  the  Chief  of  the  U.S.  Artillery, 
said  to  me  to-day:  "Nothing  will  be  accomplished 
before  the  Campaign  of  1864,  after  people  have 
learned  that  War  is  a  science."  .  .  . 

To  his  Wife 

San.  Com.  Tent,  near  Falmouth,  Fa. 

Saturday  Dec.  20th,  1862 

.  .  .  There  is  no  news  here.  Some  of  the  reg'ts 
have  received  orders  to  build  huts  for  winter  quar- 
ters, but  with  this  exception  the  whole  army  ap- 
pears to  be  moving  hither  &  thither,  last  night  the 
soldiers  were  lying  all  around  us,  thick  as  the  leaves 
of  Vallambrosa;  this  morning  they  have  all  van- 
ished. The  dissatisfaction  among  the  Officers  of 
the  army  is  intense,  they  believe  beyond  argument 
that  their  men  have  been  sacrificed  to  ignorant 
public  clamor  for  onward  marches  &  "direct  at- 


ENTHUSIASM  FOR  McCLELLAN     131 

tacks,"  the  men  are  demoralised  beyond  precedent 
—  dozens  on  dozens  in  different  reg'ts  have  told  me 
that  they'd  never  go  into  such  a  place  again  just  to 
be  butchered  to  satisfy  newspapers.  I  have  yet  to 
hear  a  word  in  condemnation  of  McClellan  from 
Generals  down  to  privates;  on  the  contrary,  I  hear 
nothing  but  praise  of  him  &  enthusiasm  for  him 
without  stint.  Some  of  the  very  men  who  said  that 
they'd  never  go  into  such  a  battle  again  when  I 
asked  them  whether  they'd  go  if  ordered  by  Little 
Mac  instantly  replied,  "Yes,  indeed;  that's  very 
different;  we  know  we'd  be  all  right  then." 

Frank  was  over  here  yesterday  for  a  couple  of 
hours,  jolly-hearted  &  contented  &  glorying  in  his 
present  life.  He  sent  his  dear  love  to  all  at  home  & 
is  full  of  anecdote. 

Willie  ^  is  here,  which  is  a  great  comfort  to  me  & 
to  him;  he  seems  as  happy  as  possible  in  this  San. 
Com.  life  &  is  full  of  energy  &  usefulness.  It  is  bit- 
terly cold  here  &  should  suffer  immensely  if  we  had 
not  plenty  of  quilts  &  blankets.  We  made  last  night 
a  glorious  bed;  I  was  the  architect  and  builded 
grandly.  It  was  occupied  by  George  Lambdin, 
Paige,  Will  &  Myself,  &  we  slept  soundly  under 
about  six  blankets.  I  was  a  little  stiff  yesterday  by 
having  been  knocked  by  my  horse  against  a  wagon, 
&  so  did  Tent  duty  consisting  of  serving  out  requi- 
sitions, my  old  Sharpsburg  work,  in  which  I  am  an 
adept.  .  .  . 

1  William  Henry  Furness,  Jr.,  who  was  also,  on  account  of  poor 
health,  rejected  by  the  army,  and  served  with  the  Sanitary 
Commission. 


132       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

To  his  Wife 

New  York,  Brevoort  House 

January  i8,  1863,  Sunday  Eve^g 

After  leaving  the  San.  Com.  rooms,  No.  823 
Broadway  (a  gentle  remembrancer  in  case  you 
should  forget  the  number),  I  went  to  lovely  wom- 
an's Central  Relief,  where  Miss  Schuyler  relieved 
me  by  handing  me  a  list  of  towns  to  be  visited  as 
soon  as  my  engagements  in  the  Hudson  Valley  are 
completed.  It  embraces  (horribile  dictu!)  Troy, 
Schenectady,  Utica,  Rome,  Syracuse,  Rochester, 
Penn  Yan,  (Phoebus,  what  a  name!)  Ithaca, 
Binghampton  &  Elmira!!  A  month's  work,  which 
with  the  two  next  weeks  on  the  Hudson  must  & 
shall  complete  my  tour  before  I  take  a  fresh  start, 
so  extract  all  the  sunshine  possible  out  of  that 
cucumber.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Schuyler  is  in  the  city  at  No.  5  University 
PI.  &  thither  I  went  yesterday  after' dinner,  to 
make  my  peace  with  her,  for  Dr.  Bellows  told  me 
that  she  was  beginning  to  think  me  a  myth.  When 
I  saw  her  she  denied  it  &  was  as  pleasant  as  possi- 
ble. She  thought  that  the  jeers  at  the  name  Fur- 
ness  with  which  the  Hudson  Valley  was  resounding 
would  be  changed  to  cheers  as  soon  as  I  made  my 
appearance.  .  ,  . 

To  his  Wije 

Schenectady,  February  12,  '63 

Givens  Hotel,  Thursday  Night 

...  I  HAVE  no  earthly  news  of  any  interest  to  tell 

you  &  my  pet  fidelity  in  giving  you  every  scrap  of 


DISCOURAGING  WORK  133 

news  will  give  this  assertion  credence.  It's  been 
snowing  all  day  &  I  have  been  tramping  about 
visiting  dreary,  fish-eyed  clergymen,  in  dreary 
gloomy  houses.  Enthusiasm  for  the  soldiers,  the 
war,  or  the  San.  Com.  is  at  the  lowest  possible  ebb. 
It  is  most  discouraging  work;  there's  no  alacrity, 
no  vivacity,  no  anything  except  their  blear-eyed 
stupidity.  I  feel  all  the  time  as  though  (beautiful 
simile)  I  were  trying  to  lift  single-handed  a  huge 
outspread  carpet.  I  can  only  by  tugging  &  heaving 
raise  one  spot  at  a  time,  which  instantly  flops  down 
the  moment  I  leave  it  to  go  to  another.  I  called  on 
Mrs.  Judge  Potter,  President  of  the  Ladies  Associa- 
tion here  &  sent  up  my  graceful  card;  she  sent 
down  word  that  "she  must  be  excused,  she  wasn't 
very  well  to-day,  and  she  sends  everything  to 
Washington  &  New  York."  Delphic  response! 
mysterious  &  horrible.  The  latter  portion  of  the 
sentence  a  key  to  the  former:  with  everything  sent 
to  Washington  how  could  she  appear  even  before 
her  own  family  &  how  much  less  before  a  stranger.'* 
Raleigh's  spirit  instantly  prompted  me  to  send  her 
up  my  umbrella  which  might  be  something  in  case 
of  fire.  Another  lady  beamingly  assured  me  that 
"I'd  be  lucky  if  I  got  forty  people  to  come  to  my 
meetin'."  However,  despite  all  discouragements  & 
lukewarmness  I  have  made  arrangements  to  speak 
in  Dr.  Backus  his  church  next  Thursday,  the  first 
unoccupied  evening  for  Schenectady.  .  .  . 


134       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

To  his  Wife 

Troy,  February  15,  1863 

Troy  House,  Sunday 

...  I  FEEL  wakeful  to  the  last  degree.  The  excite- 
ment of  this  eve'g's  meeting  hasn't  yet  died  down. 
The  ministers  of  all  the  churches,  with  one  or  two 
exceptions,  gave  this  morning  notice  of  my  meet- 
ing, &  recommending  their  congregations  to  come 
&  hear  me  closed  their  conventicles  for  the  eve'g. 
The  consequence  was  that  I  had  the  best  audience 
that  I  ever  addressed;  the  church  is  the  largest  in 
Troy  &  holding  between  eleven  &  twelve  hundred 
people,  was  perfectly  crammed.  The  aisles  &  gal- 
leries at  the  back  all  filled  with  men  unable  to  find 
seats.  I  condensed  all  into  an  hour  and  ten  min- 
utes, during  which  I  didn*t  see  a  person  yawn,  nor 
did  the  boy  in  the  gallery  go  out  as  he  always  does 
at  the,  most  interesting  part;  one  lady  fainted  & 
had  to  be  dragged  out  by  the  arms,  which  was  the 
only  diversion.  I  flatter  myself  that  I  have  killed 
the  boss  devil  stone  dead  in  this  town  &  put  the 
nose  of  the  Christian  Commission  considerably  out 
of  joint,  without  making  one  direct  allusion  to  it. 
The  meeting  was  a  grand  conglomeration  of 
sects.  The  services  were  opened  by  a  Baptist  Doc- 
tor of  Divinity,  followed  by  a  prayer  from  a  Uni- 
tarian, Rev.  Mr,  Buckingham;  a  Unitarian  Lawyer 
followed;  then  came  some  capital  remarks  by  an 
Episcopalian,  the  Rev,  Potter;  then  was  read  a 
letter  of  entire  sympathy  with  the  meeting  &  its 
objects,   from   a   Methodist   D.D,;   then   a   New 


SUCCESSFUL  MEETINGS  135 

School  Presbyterian  made  some  pertinent  remarks 
for  a  few  minutes.  All  was  carried  on  in  an  Old 
School  Presbyterian  Church.  So  you  see  the  San. 
Com.  does  good  in  more  ways  than  one.  A  meeting 
was  immediately  held  after  the  bulk  of  the  audi- 
ence had  left  &  fifteen  gentlemen  appointed  to 
organize  the  various  congregations  into  one  society 
&  to  supply  this  society  with  a  steady,  slated 
monthly  sum  of  money  for  the  purchase  of  mate- 
rials. So  I  got  away  from  Troy  with  a  good  assur- 
ance that  the  good  work  has  commenced.  .  .  . 

To  his  Wife 

Syracuse,  March  2,  '63 

Syracuse  House,  Monday  night 

Well,  Syracuse  is  done  for;  the  meeting  tonight  is 
not  what  it  should  have  been,  nor  would  have  been 
had  the  weather  been  better  yesterday  &  today; 
yesterday  the  storm  was  so  severe  that  very  few 
were  at  Church  when  the  notices  were  read,  &  this 
evening  the  streets  were  afloat  with  slush  —  how- 
ever, there  were  some  three  hundred  and  fifty  or 
four  hundred  of  excellent  quality,  a  good  energetic 
committee  was  appointed  by  his  Honor  the  Mayor 
who  presided,  and  all  are  sanguine  of  raising  at 
least  two  hundred  dollars  per  month.  This  is  now 
the  point  to  which  I  bend  my  strength:  these 
committees  of  gentlemen  who  canvass  cities  where 
they  are  formed  &  procure  what  they  can  in  sums 
from  ten  cents  up  to  as  many  dollars,  to  be  given 
each  month  while  the  war  lasts  to  the  Sanitary 


136       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

Commission.  It's  a  pleasant  way  (this  for  your 
private  ear)  of  estimating  the  amount  of  good  that 
I  accomplish.  The  cities  from  Troy  to  this  place 
will  collectively  pour  at  least  a  thousand  dollars  a 
month  into  the  San.  Com.  warehouses,  plus  the 
labor  expended  in  making  up  the  garments.  So, 
let's  draw  a  little  comfort  when  we  know  that  we 
are  really  helping  on  this  war.  If  I  should  stop  at 
this  very  point  I  really  think  that  my  labors  have 
not  been  in  vain.  To  be  the  means  of  adding  ten  or 
twelve  thousand  dollars  per  year  to  the  San.  Com. 
is  really  worth  a  good  deal  of  personal  sacrifice  — 
isn't  it.''  Mr.  May  is  chairman  of  the  Committee 
appointed  this  evening  &  he  assured  me  that  the 
money  to  be  collected  shall  never  be  diverted  from 
the  San.  Com.  no  dollar  shall  go  to  the  Boss  devil 
or  his  chief  aide,  the  Christian  Commission.  I 
think  you'd  laugh  to  see  me  perched  up  in  a  pulpit, 
hammering  the  cushion  &  thumping  the  Bible.  I 
was  very  much  tickled  at  Troy  at  what  my  friend 
Dick  Hall  told  me;  after  his  return  from  my  meet- 
ing he  met  a  young  friend  of  his  &  asked  him  where 
he'd  been,  his  friend  replied  that  he'd  been  to  hear  a 
Mr.  Furness  tell  about  the  San.  Com.  "Well,"  said 
Dick,  "What  did  you  think  of  him?"  "My!"  re- 
plied the  young  man,  "ain't  he  gay!  he  was  got  up 
perfectly  regardless,  for  a  clergyman,"  I  have  taken 
the  hint  &  I  am  now  very  particular  about  the 
"Esq."  to  which  I  am  entitled.  .  .  . 


WORK  IN  ROCHESTER  137 

To  his  Wife 

Rochester,  March  5,  '63 
Osburn  House,  Thursday 
...  I  AM  growing  wondrous  weary.  It  is  not  the 
mere  speaking  that  tires  me,  on  the  contrary,  I 
rather  Hke  it,  but  it  is  the  dreadful  preHminaries, 
the  running  about  all  day,  sent  hither  &  thither  by 
lukewarm  creatures  anxious  only  to  get  rid  of  me, 
promising  cordial  co-operation  with  their  lips  & 
damning  me  in  their  hearts,  having  to  repeat  the 
same  things  over  &  over  again  until  it  becomes 
frightfully  mechanical.  I  verily  believe  I  could 
introduce  myself  &  the  purpose  of  my  visit  &  a 
general  sketch  of  the  San.  Com.  in  my  sleep.  It 
monopolises  my  thoughts  &  invades  my  dreams, 
damn  it,  when  I  want  to  dream  of  other  things. 
And  the  devil  of  it  all  is  that  I  know  I  do  it  all 
too  well  for  me  to  drop  it  on  the  score  of  incompe- 
tence. .  .  . 

To  his  Wife 

Rochester,  March  6,  *6$ 

Osburn  House,  Friday  Night 

I  AM  much  more  cheerful  tonight  than  last  night. 
The  Providence  scheme  is  abandoned  unless  to- 
morrow's mail  counsel  otherwise  from  old  Bellows. 
My  hardest,  dirtiest  work  here  in  Rochester  is  over 
&  I  feel  that  I  have  gained  a  huge  point  here.  The 
city  had  actually  pledged  itself  to  the  Boss  devil  & 
his  Prime  minister,  the  Christian  Commission.  I 
had  a  meeting  of  the  ladies  this  p.m.  &  talked  with 


138       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

them  about  two  hours  &  completely  turned  them 
round.  They  voted  unanimously  to  request  me  to 
deliver  a  public  address,  which  I  have  agreed  to  do 
on  Monday,  March  i6th,  a  week  hence;  they  in 
the  meantime  will  use  every  exertion  to  make  the 
meeting  large  &  successful.  I  created  quite  a  little 
tempest  of  enthusiasm  for  the  San.  Com.  &  after 
my  remarks  a  capital  incident  occurred.  A  man 
had  come  in  during  my  preachment,  &  when  I  had 
finished  he  arose  &  told  how  sixteen  Rochester 
boys  would  have  died  but  for  the  San.  Com.  He 
was  a  most  honest,  tender-hearted  man,  a  chaplain 
I  should  think,  &  before  he  got  through  the  many 
instances  where  the  San.  Com.  had  rescued  his 
Rochester  boys  from  suffering  &  death,  the  poor 
man  broke  down  &  the  tears  ran  over  his  face,  &  he 
fairly  sobbed  out,  "  I  pray  God  to  bless  every  man 
connected  with  this  blessed  institution."  Of  course 
this  following  upon  my  remarks,  &  without  the 
faintest  possibility  of  collusion  was  most  telling,  & 
I  could  scarcely  keep  my  countenance  at  the  sight 
of  ladies  who  only  two  weeks  ago  pledged  all  their 
assistance  first  to  the  New  York  State  Relief  Assoc. 
&  then  all  the  rest  to  the  Christian  Commission,  now 
throwing  over  both  &  eager  to  help  the  San.  Com. 

To  his  Wife 

Bloomslurg,  Pa.,  April  26,  '63 

Exchange  Hotel,  Sunday 

.  .  .  Doubtless  God  could  have  made  a  viler,  dir- 
tier, slipshodder  hole  than  Catawissa,  but  doubt- 


A  STUPID  DRIVER  139 

less  God  never  did  —  It  hasn't,  more  than  forty 
houses  in  it  &  they  are  all  tumbling  to  bits.  I  had 
my  rencontre  with  the  Post  Master  which  I  have 
mentioned  &  will  not  repeat;  the  remembrance  is 
not  pleasant.  I  instantly  hired  a  horse  &  buggy  to 
drive  over  here  to  Bloomsburg,  four  miles.  I  was 
mad,  morose  &  murderous  &  had  the  driver  been 
one  degree  above  the  brute  creation  in  stupidity  & 
had  intruded  upon  me  his  remarks,  I  should  in- 
fallibly have  mashed  him.  As  it  was,  I  listened  to 
him  as  I  would  have  to  the  snorting  of  a  horse.  At 
times  I  couldn't  avoid  hearing  what  he  said  nor 
from  being  amused  at  his  surprising  ignorance.  He 
was  a  stout  good-looking  fellow  of  thirty  with  a 
fine  beard  &  moustache  &  had  I  been  in  any  other 
mood  I  could  have  got  a  good  deal  out  of  him.  He 
had  been  talking  for  some  time,  what  about  the 
Lord  only  knows.  I  was  wrapped  up  in  my  disap- 
pointment, half  longing  for  the  huge  rocks  along 
which  our  road  wound  to  cover  me  up  till  next 
Tuesday  when  I  could  crawl  out  &  get  a  letter, 
when  my  ears  caught  my  Jehu  saying:  "I  only 
wish  I  had  old  Jeff  Davis  by  the  throat;  I  guess  I'd 
get  a  power  of  money  if  I  ketched  him;  I'd  be  inde- 
pendent; wouldn't  people  subscribe  money  for  me.'* 
I  could  buy  up  all  Bloomsburg  or  at  least  half  of  it." 
After  a  while,  turning  to  me,  he  asked,  "They  ain't 
taken  Charleston  yet,  hev  they.?"  "No,  not  yet,"  I 
answered.  "Awful  lot  of  people  killed  there, 
wan't  there  ? "  "  Why,  no,"  I  replied,  "  not  a  dozen." 
*'I  want  to  know!"  he  replied  with  the  most  un- 


140       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

feigned  astonishment;  "everybody  tells  me  that 
there  were  two  hundred  thousand  killed  there!" 
So  we  went  on  to  Bloomsburg,  the  sun  shining 
brightly,  the  sky  cloudless  &  the  wind  a  hurricane 
&  the  roads  shocking. 

I  reached  there  just  in  time  for  dinner  &  immedi- 
ately after  went  to  work. 

Rev.  Waller  out  of  town. 

Mrs.  Rev.  Waller  at  home.  Asked  me  to  tea  & 
sent  little  George  Waller  round  with  me  to  hunt 
deacons.  Ferreted  out  three  &  held  a  consultation. 
Concluded  that  the  Methodist  Church  being  larger, 
was  better  than  the  Presbyterian.  Accompanied 
by  our  deacon  I  unearthed  Methodist  parson  Rev. 
John.  "No  right  to  dispose  of  the  Church,  the  pre- 
siding Elder  being  in  town."  Accompanied  by 
Rev.  John,  the  Presiding  Elder,  Brother  Reese, 
was  waylaid  in  a  Grocery  store  &  his  assent  gained. 
With  Rev.  John  I  then  went  round  to  the  other 
clergymen  &  so  on  the  same  old  weary  round  of 
which  I  have  had  now  such  a  nauseating  dose  for 
the  last  seven  months.   At  last  it  was  all  arranged 

—  I  am  to  speak  tonight  in  the  Methodist  Church 

—  and  I  went  quietly  to  tea  to  Mr.  Waller's  who 
had  returned.  .  .  . 

I  have  just  returned  from  my  meeting;  the 
Church  was  crammed.  There  must  have  been  at 
least  five  or  six  hundred  people,  but  as  a  whole  it 
was  not  a  congenial  audience.  I  couldn't  get  inter- 
ested in  them  one  bit.  The  Church  was  intolerably 
hot,  &  in  the  pulpit  between  the  astral  lamps  it  was 
fire  itself.  .  .  . 


LETTERS  TO  AN  ENGLISHMAN     141 

However,  it's  all  over  &  Praise  ye  the  Lord,  it's 
one  step  towards  home.  ... 

The  tour  through  Pennsylvania  was  the  last  ex- 
tended trip  that  Furness  made  for  the  Sanitary 
Commission.  Until  the  close  of  the  War  his  work 
lay  in  Philadelphia,  with  only  short  trips  to  the 
smaller  towns  to  urge  to  greater  activity  the  organ- 
izations he  had  established,  or  to  Washington  to 
consult  with  Mr.  Olmsted  so  that  the  Philadel- 
phia branch  might  be  in  constant  touch  with  the 
base  of  operations.  Then,  too,  came  frequent  calls 
from  the  front  for  assistants  to  the  hospitals  and 
for  agents  to  distribute  supplies  when  the  flood  of 
wounded  after  a  great  battle  overtaxed  the  capac- 
ity of  those  to  whom  such  duties  regularly  fell. 

Throughout  the  gloomy  months  of  the  summer 
of  1863  it  is  interesting  to  know  that  his  belief  in 
the  ultimate  triumph  of  right  never  wavered.  This 
deep  note  of  trustfulness  is  sounded  in  a  few  letters 
to  an  English  friend  which  have  fortunately  been 
preserved  to  be  included  here.  The  friend  was  Ed- 
mund K.  Muspratt,  of  Liverpool;  he  and  Furness 
had  met  and  found  each  other  congenial  compan- 
ions at  Munich  during  the  winter  of  1855.  Until 
the  beginning  of  the  war  they  had  corresponded 
irregularly,  but  when  hostilities  began,  and  the  at- 
titude of  the  British  Government  was  markedly  in 
favour  of  the  Confederates,  Furness  allowed  the  cor- 
respondence to  lapse.  He  preferred  rather  to  have 
his  friend  believe  him  negligent  than  to  break 
the  friendship  by  expressing  his  bitter  opinion  of 
England's  stand.  As  soon,  however,  as  a  letter 
came  from  Muspratt   assuring  Furness  that  the 


142       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

position  which  his  Government  took  in  regard  to 
the  War  in  America  was  distasteful  to  the  majority 
of  intelligent  Englishmen,  that  the  rights  of  the 
cause  for  which  the  North  was  fighting,  had  begun 
to  penetrate  the  barricade  of  lies  and  prejudice 
which  the  press  had  placed  between  the  British 
people  and  the  truth,  then  did  Furness  gladly  re- 
sume his  correspondence  with  his  friend  of  the  old 
Munich  days,  telling  him  how  relieved  he  was  to 
hear  of  his  sympathy  and  urging  him  to  use  his  In- 
fluence in  spreading  this  sympathetic  understand- 
ing throughout  Great  Britain. 

Furness  undoubtedly  trusted  that  other  eyes  than 
Muspratt's  might  read  these  letters,  or  at  least  the 
purport  of  his  exposition  of  Northern  ideals  might 
fertilize  In  some  small  measure  the  fallow  soil  of 
British  opinion  and  turn  the  press-fostered  criticism 
to  commendation. 


To  Edmund  K.  Muspratt 

Philadelphia,  June  24,  1 863 

My  dear  old  friend:  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I 
am  to  hear  of  you  once  more.  Your  letter  of 
Jan'y  29,  to  my  Father,  I  received  only  a  few  days 
ago.  I  have  been  away  from  home  nearly  the  whole 
winter,  only  returning  for  a  day  or  two  at  a  time, 
and  as  your  letter  came  during  one  of  my  absences 
it  quite  slipped  my  Father's  memory.  He  begs  me 
to  present  to  you  his  apologies,  with  the  assurance 
of  his  intention  to  acknowledge  its  receipt,  but 
which  the  anxiety  and  excitement  of  the  times 
caused  him  to  forget. 


ENGLAND'S  CONDUCT  143 

Of  course,  you  dear  fellow,  I  was  not  surprised 
to  hear  that  you  fully  sympathised  with  us  in  the 
present  struggle.  No  true-minded  man  could  do 
otherwise.  It  is  the  battle  of  Liberty  against 
Slavery  on  as  true  an  issue  as  the  world  ever  saw. 
We  were  slow  to  believe  it,  but  every  day  that  the 
war  is  prolonged  is  opening  our  eyes.  To  me  the 
struggle  is  unspeakably  grand,  it  has  given  me  a 
country.  From  the  first  uprising  of  the  people 
after  the  attack  on  Fort  Sumter  I  have  been  joy- 
ous, proud,  happy  &  exhilarated.  It  takes  a  cen- 
tury of  peace  to  educate  a  nation  &  we  have 
gained  a  century's  experience  in  two  years.  No 
greater  misfortune  could  have  happened  to  us 
than  to  have  been  enabled  to  crush  this  rebellion 
at  the  outset.  The  compromises  of  the  Constitu- 
tion would  have  been  reenacted  with  a  hundred 
fold  vigour.  And  now  every  hour  that  the  war  lasts 
diminishes,  thank  God!  the  prospect  of  such  a  ter- 
mination. 

But,  my  dear  Muspratt,  we  have  been  grieved 
at  England's  conduct.  We  certainly  had  a  right  to 
expect  a  different  course  from  a  nation  that  had 
abolished  slavery  &  the  slave  trade.  Madness 
seems  to  have  seized  the  rulers  of  England.  They 
seem  to  have  been  doing  their  very  best  to  alienate 
our  respect  &  friendship.  At  times  it  seems  to  me 
as  though  our  feelings  were  not  so  bitter  against 
the  South  as  against  England.  The  Southerners 
are  so  manifestly  what  their  circumstances  have 
made  them.   But  there  is  no  such  excuse  in  Eng- 


144       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

land  &  thank  God  for  John  Bright,  Francis  New- 
man, John  Stuart  Mill  &  yourself.  We  are  all  now 
in  excitement  over  the  threatened  invasion  of  the 
North.  In  me  It  causes  no  alarm.  I  am  not  so  sure 
but  that  the  loss  of  Harrisburg,  Philadelphia  or 
even  Washington  might  not  be  the  best  thing  for 
us.  We  have  not  yet  begun  to  feel  the  war,  that 
is,  in  our  outward  circumstances.  Of  course  our 
hearts  have  been  wrung  by  the  loss  of  our  dear 
friends.  Did  you  know  of  poor  Savage's  death  .»* 
He  was  Lieutenant  Col.  of  the  2nd  Massachusetts, 
and  lost  an  arm  &  a  leg  at  the  battle  of  Antietam 
last  Sept.  &  died  a  prisoner  in  Richmond.  He 
fought  gloriously  &  was  idolized  by  his  Regiment. 

But,  my  dear  Muspratt,  let  me  know  something 
of  yourself.  What  are  you  doing.''  Do  you  still  live 
in  Seaforth  Hall.'*  Commend  me  most  respectfully 
to  your  wife.  As  for  me,  I  have  been  married  these 
three  years  &  have  a  little  son  two  years  old.  Voila 
tout.  Blight  sends  you  a  great  deal  of  love.  Do 
let  me  hear  from  you  soon,  &  believe  me,  my  dear 
Muspratt, 

With  great  love  &  regard,  your  old  friend 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Edmund  K.  Muspratt 

Philadelphia,  Aug.  31,  1863 
I  CANNOT  tell  you,  my  dear  Muspratt,  how  heartily 
I  welcomed  your  letter  of  Aug.  14  which  reached 
me  day  before  yesterday.    It  gave  me  a  flood  of 
light  when  all  had  been  dark.    It's  very  hard  to 


A  GLOOMY  TIME  145 

keep  your  faith  alive  withoiit  nourishment.  I  knew 
that  John  Bright  couldn't  be  the  popular  man  he 
is  without  having  crowds  of  adherents,  friends,  & 
followers  who  think  and  feel  as  he  does,  but  then 
we  hear  so  little  from  them,  and  every  newspaper 
in  the  United  Kingdom,  except  the  "London 
Star,"  seems  to  have  joined  in  the  howl  against  us, 
urged  on  by  such  men  as  Thackeray  &  Carlyle!  I 
declare  my  faith  was  flickering,  but  what  you  say 
^bout  the  Lancashire  operatives  is  so  grand,  that 
it  inspires  it  anew,  &  I  continue  to  hope  for  Eng- 
land for  their  sakes  &  for  yours. 

It  was  indeed  a  gloomy  time  when  I  last  wrote 
to  you.  For  two  days  before  Meade's  Army  had 
come  up  to  Lee's  &  when  the  latter  seemed  to 
carry  everything  before  him,  I  confess  I  felt  a  little 
depressed,  not  for  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the 
cause,  but  for  the  fate  of  this  dear  city  of  Phila.  & 
for  the  fate  of  my  own  family,  my  father  a  well- 
known  Abolitionist,  North  &  South,  &  who  would 
not,  of  course,  as  would  none  of  us,  have  left  the 
city  had  the  Rebels  entered  it.  But  nous  avons 
change  tout  cela,  and  all  things  progress  grandly. 
And  that  Rebel  invasion  turned  out  a  great  bless- 
ing —  as  does  everything  which  reveals  the  mon- 
strous character  of  the  Rebellion.  No  greater  mis- 
fortune could  have  befallen  this  country  than  a 
triumph  for  the  United  States  at  the  first  battle 
at  Bull  Run  two  years  ago.  With  every  defeat  we 
have  made  an  advance,  &  at  last  the  first  sentence 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  that  all  men 


146       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

are  born  free  &  equal,  Is  dawning  upon  the  minds 
of  the  nation  as  a  great  truth.  Had  we  been  victo- 
rious in  our  first  great  battle,  the  Rebellion  would 
have  been  crushed  &  the  South  restored  to  its  old 
position  with  fresh  guarantees  for  Slavery  &  the 
country  would  have  been  doomed,  but,  thank  God! 
it  was  otherwise  &  that  same  fervent  ejaculation  I 
have  uttered  after  every  defeat  until  the  eyes  of 
the  North  were  opened  to  the  nature  of  the  foe  that 
had  assaulted  it,  &  it  was  clearly  seen  that  it  was 
Slavery  &  nothing  else.  Then,  too,  the  North  had 
to  learn  that  Slavery  was  to  be  hated  not  only  for 
its  horrible  effect  upon  the  poor  slave,  but  for  its 
worse  effect  upon  the  Master,  transforming  men, 
polished  in  manner,  &  refined  in  intellect,  into  very 
demons  and  fiends.  Southern  chivalry  is  never 
spoken  of  now  without  a  sneer,  &  men  now  are  be- 
ginning to  discern  that  Slavery  works  the  steady 
&  sure  decay  of  all  courtesy,  and  morality  & 
honor  &  religion.  For  myself  I  can  only  feel  pro- 
found commiseration  for  the  Rebels  as  victims  of 
circumstances.  They  could  no  more  help  becom- 
ing what  they  are  than  they  could  stop  the  growth 
of  their  bodies.  It's  a  grand  thing  for  a  nation, 
given  over  to  matter-of-fact  commerce,  to  begin 
to  have  faith  in  an  unmaterial  idea  —  the  idea  of 
Liberty,  &  to  realize  the  truth  of  what  Lessing 
said  that  he  who  binds  a  chain  round  a  fellow  man 
binds  the  heaviest  end  around  himself.  Indeed, 
my  dear  Muspratt,  the  times  to  me  are  full  of 
cheer,  &  have  been  so  from  the  very  first;  the 


PATRIOTISM  147 

gloomiest  time  of  my  whole  life  was  the  winter  pre- 
ceding the  outbreak  of  the  rebellion  when  we 
seemed  to  be  splitting  up  into  numberless  factions 
all  of  us  to  become  the  easy  prey  of  the  South.  But 
the  good  God  was  working  silently,  &  all  of  a 
sudden  one  cannon  from  Charleston  turned  us 
all  into  one  nation  with  a  heart  beating  for  our 
country.  Then  for  the  first  instant  in  my  life  I  had 
a  country,  one  where  I  dared  think  &  speak,  &  not 
the  vile  mockery  of  a  republic  that  we  had  before. 
Could  anything  have  turned  out  more  grandly 
than  the  New  York  riots !  Those  poor  negroes  were 
as  truly  martyrs  for  the  nation  as  any  that  have 
fallen  on  battle-fields;  the  glare  of  their  burning 
houses  revealed  the  character  of  the  mob,  &  showed 
its  Southern  origin.  Everywhere  else  the  draft  has 
been  carried  out  not  only  quietly,  but  in  many 
places,  as  for  instance  here  in  Phila.  with  hurrahs, 
&  with  the  whole  crowd  singing  the  Star-Spangled 
Banner  at  the  close  of  each  day's  proceeding.  It  is 
said  that  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  is  reinforcing 
with  these  conscripts  at  the  rate  of  a  thousand  per 
day.  Everything  looks  bright.  Charleston  I  ex- 
pect will  hold  out  for  some  time,  &  from  Vicksburg 
I  expect  we  have  learned  patience.  But  my  time  is 
more  than  up  &  I  have  a  thousand  things  that  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  about,  a  letter  is  so  very  unsat- 
isfactory. My  brother  William  is  far  from  well. 
His  nature  is  very  excitable  &  these  times  have 
fairly  worn  him  out.  He  has  gone  with  his  wife  & 
little  girl,  three  years  old,  to  Massachusetts,  where 


148       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

in  perfect  quiet  he  hopes  to  restore  his  health.  My 
younger  brother  is  a  Captain  of  Cavalry  &  has 
been  in  the  field  from  the  first.  I  have  a  little  boy 
Walter  some  thirty  months  old.  Blight  is  not 
married,  tho'  he  wishes  he  were;  he  is  off  in  Rhode 
Island  for  a  few  weeks.  I  enclose  you  a  photo  which 
tells  its  own  story,  &  which  you  may  do  some  good 
with.  God  bless  you  for  all  you  are  doing.  Do 
write  soon  again  &  believe  me,  my  dear  Muspratt, 
Yours  affectionately 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Edmund  K.  Muspratt 

Philadelphia,  Nov.  24,  1863 

I  WAS  very  glad  to  receive  your  letter  of  Oct.  31st, 
&  still  more  glad  to  have  you  ask  the  questions 
which  I  will  do  my  best  to  answer,  and  which  cer- 
tainly ought  not  to  be  a  difficult  matter  for  a  law- 
yer and  an  American. 

You  say  that  many  of  you  (although  you  are  not 
one)  think  that  we  cannot  conquer  the  South  with- 
out the  loss  of  our  own  liberty.  I  suppose  the  ac- 
quiescence of  the  country  in  the  suspension  of  the 
Writ  of  Habeas  Corpus  is  the  best  proof  to  which 
you  can  point  of  what  you  say.  Now  this  suspen- 
sion is  very  limited  in  its  extent;  it  applies  only  to  a 
certain  class  of  cases;  in  all  others  it  is  in  daily, 
almost  hourly  employment.  These  cases  wherein 
the  writ  is  suspended  are  those  where  the  govern- 
ment, having  excellent  knowledge  of  the  plottings 
of  treason,  must  instantly  arrest  and  incarcerate 


THE  WRIT  OF  HABEAS  CORPUS    149 

the  traitor  without  the  delay  or  the  publicity  of  a 
trial,  which  would  compel  either  the  discharge  of 
the  prisoner,  or  the  disclosure  on  the  part  of  the 
Government  of  its  system  of  secret  police  at  home, 
or  its  espionage  within  the  rebel  lines.  You  are 
very  much  mistaken  if  you  think  that  there  is  no 
investigation  into  the  circumstances  of  the  case. 
This  investigation  is  speedy  &  strict,  &  the  friends 
of  the  traitor  are  allowed  full  liberty  to  bring  for- 
ward evidence  of  his  innocence,  (but  how  seldom 
is  it  ever  attempted!)  If  innocence  be  proved  im- 
mediate liberty  follows,  and  the  citizen  has  then 
his  right  of  action  against  the  government  with 
damages,  a  suit,  by  the  way,  of  which  I  believe 
there  has  been  but  one  sohtary  instance,  &  this  has 
fallen  through.  Moreover,  what  loyal  citizen,  in  the 
hour  of  his  country's  extreme  peril,  would  not  will- 
ingly suffer  temporary  confinement  rather  than  by 
his  action  clog  the  wheels  of  governm't  &  thereby 
aid  and  abet  treason.''  What  ninety  &  nine  liberty- 
loving  loyal  men  are  there  who  would  not  gladly 
undergo  momentary  inconvenience  rather  than 
that  one  traitor  should  escape.''  Who  raises  any 
outcry  against  this  temporary  suspension  of  the 
Hab.  Corpus  but  traitors  and  the  comforters  of 
traitors  .f*  For  me  it  possesses  no  more  terrors  than 
the  Russian  Knout.  This  suspension  is  expressly 
granted  in  the  Constitution  in  the  cases  of  "foreign 
invasion  &  rebellion^^^  &  it  requires  no  great  flight 
of  imagination  to  see  how  utterly  futile  every  at- 
tempt of  the  Government  to  put  down  this  rebel- 


ISO       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

lion  would  be  without  the  exercise  of  this  prerog- 
ative. It  was  said  by  a  lawyer  in  1861,  before  the 
suspension,  that,  except  in  procuring  the  muster- 
rolls,  there  could,  without  difficulty,  be  drawn  an 
affidavit  which  any  wretch  might  swear  to,  but 
which  would  make  it  the  legal  duty  of  the  Chief 
Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  to  bring  the  army 
covering  Washington  back  to  Baltimore,  &  relin- 
quish our  Capitol  to  the  rebels. 

Moreover,  this  writ  of  Hab.  Corp.  is  and  always 
has  been  in  operation  in  cases  where  one  might 
almost  with  reason  expect  an  appeal  to  martial 
law.  At  this  very  minute  there  is  a  soldier  in 
prison  in  this  state,  who,  while  on  duty  as  a  sentry, 
and  acting  under  what  he  believed  to  be  his  orders, 
shot  a  citizen;  the  regiment  was  on  the  eve  of  its 
departure  for  Charleston,  but  the  soldier  was  re- 
moved by  Hab.  Corp.  from  the  custody  of  his 
Colonel  &  is  now  awaiting  his  trial  before  a  civil 
tribunal  for  manslaughter.  Another  instance  oc- 
curred at  the  beginning  of  the  war  when  our  mil- 
itary ardor  was  at  its  height.  A  regiment  actually 
on  its  march  to  the  field  of  war  when  a  writ  of 
Hab.  Corp.  was  served  upon  its  Colonel  by  the 
Father  of  a  private  who  he  alleged  was  under  age 
&  had  enlisted  without  his  consent.  The  Col. 
halted  his  regiment  in  the  street  outside  of  our 
Court  here,  &  entered  it  in  full  uniform  to  answer 
the  summons,  but  not  one  step  would  the  Judge 
allow  him  to  take  within  the  bar  nor  to  utter  one 
word  until  he  had  laid  aside  his  sword.    Nor  did 


A  PEOPLE'S  WAR  151 

the  Colonel  hesitate  one  minute,  but  at  once  gave 
his  sword  to  an  attendant  outside  &  listened  in  a 
deferential  silence  to  the  reprimand  of  the  Judge. 
This  doesn't  look  very  much  like  succumbing  to 
military  despotism,  does  it?  The  soldier,  by  the 
way,  was  delivered,  on  proof,  to  his  father  &  the 
regiment  proceeded  on  its  march. 

You  say,  my  dear  Edmund,  that  war  tends  to 
despotism.  This  is  perfectly  true  of  all  wars  but 
a  people's  war,  like  ours.  In  the  first  place,  this 
war  is  an  exception  to  all  wars;  it  stands  thus  far 
alone  in  history  &  is  its  own  only  parallel,  it  is  sui 
generis.  By  way  of  proof,  where  in  history,  in  what 
age,  in  what  country,  will  you  find  an  instance  of 
soldiers  In  actual  service,  encamped  on  battle- 
fields in  the  midst  of  an  active  campaign,  deciding 
what  principles  the  war  shall  be  carried  on  &  by 
what  policy  their  generals  shall  be  guided,  as  was 
the  case  in  our  army  during  the  late  "Fall  Elec- 
tions".'' In  the  second  place,  the  generals  control 
the  army,  but  the  people  control  the  generals,  and 
no  single  instance  has  occurred  where  a  general 
has  dared  to  defy  this  powerful  master.  No  matter 
how  popular  a  general  may  be,  no  matter  how 
idolised  by  his  soldiers,  the  order  issues  from  Wash- 
ington for  his  removal,  &  he  retires  without  a  mur- 
mur of  complaint,  &  both  his  soldiers  &  the  public 
feel  assured  that  it  has  not  been  done  on  frivolous 
or  insufficient  grounds,  &  that  the  propriety  of  the 
President's  course  will  in  the  end  be  apparent  to 
all.  Just  look  at  that  army  of  the  Potomac  &  note 


152       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

by  how  many  successive  Generals  it  has  been  com- 
manded each  one  more  or  less  the  idol  of  their 
troops,  Scott,  McDowell,  McClellan,  Pope,  Burn- 
side,  Hooker  &  now  Meade.  Each  one  of  them 
always  within  one,  two. or  three  days  march  of 
Washington  and  at  the  head  of  a  hundred  thou- 
sand soldiers,  could  have  taken  possession  of  the 
government,  its  buildings  &  archives,  without  a 
blow.  But  never  a  syllable  of  remonstrance  es- 
caped their  lips  as  the  successive  orders  for  their 
removal  were  issued.  They  knew  that  though  the 
men  they  commanded  were  soldiers,  they  were  also 
citizens,  and  that  in  the  suppression  of  the  rebellion 
the  humblest  drummer  boy  and  the  Major-General 
are  alike  interested.  I  am  proud  of  our  army  in  the 
hour  of  victory  but  I  confess  to  a  higher  pride 
in  our  soldiers  when  I  see  this  sublime  deference 
to  civil  authority  pervading  every  rank  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest. 

Now  let  me  turn  to  what  you  say  of  our  "idol- 
atry of  the  Constitution."  Here,  my  dear  Edmund, 
you  are  all  astray,  &  it  is  probably  impossible  that 
it  should  be  otherwise.  At  the  distance  of  three 
thousand  miles  the  cries  of  all  parties  become 
mingled  &  confused.  To  explain  myself  let  me  go  a 
little  deeper  into  History.  When  the  Constitution 
was  forming  the  idea  of  introducing  the  word 
"slave"  into  it  was  scouted  with  indignation  by  its 
framers.  It  was  considered  disgraceful  in  itself  & 
not  a  man  of  them  had  the  remotest  idea  that  slav- 
ery would  survive  the  twenty  years'  lease  of  life 


THE  CONSTITUTION  153 

given  to  the  African  slave  trade.  The  consequence 
is  that  as  the  instrument  now  stands  had  it  de- 
scended to  us  from  antiquity  no  man  ahve  could 
imagine  that  it  protected  human  slavery.  The 
very  article  authorising  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law, 
declares  simply  in  reference  to  "fugitives  from 
labor"  which  may  mean  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  "apprentices."  Of  course  a  pro-slavery 
Bench  interprets  this  as  referring  to  slaves,  &  the 
South  have  therefore  always  been  careful  to  have  a 
majority  of  the  Supreme  Bench  composed  of  Slave- 
holders. The  Constitution  thus  held  to  cover  Slav- 
ery has  always  been  the  cry  of  the  South,  &  now 
when  the  South  has  rebelled  it  has  become  the 
rallying  cry  of  their  friends,  their  aiders,  &  abet- 
tors at  the  North  &  in  their  mouths  means  nothing 
on  God's  earth  but  Slavery.  Having  been  inter- 
preted as  fostering  slavery,  they  wish  no  new  ren- 
dering of  it  which  shall  reverse  the  old  hellish  de- 
cisions &  the  pro-slavery  party  at  the  North  now 
show  their  meaning  when  they  call  for  "The 
Union  as  it  was  &  the  Constitution  as  it  u."  One 
needs  no  better  proof  of  the  shallowness  of  their 
love,  &  that  this  vehemence  of  affection  is  but  the 
flimsiest  cloak  for  their  worship  of  slavery,  than  is 
to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  for  years  &  years  past, 
the  Constitution  every  letter  of  which  they  profess 
to  venerate  so  deeply  has  been  systematically  dis- 
obeyed and  trampled  upon  by  Southern  legisla- 
tive enactments  in  one  of  its  most  precious  &  vital 
articles,  occurring,  moreover,  in  the  very  section  in 


154       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

which  is  the  clause  on  which  the  Fugitive  Slave 
Law  is  founded,  viz.:  "that  the  citizens  of  each 
state  shall  be  entitled  to  all  privileges  &  immuni- 
ties of  citizens  in  the  several  states."  I  needn't 
refer  to  the  treatment  that  has  for  years  past  been 
the  lot  of  Northern  citizens  who,  while  in  the  slave 
states,  were  suspected  of  the  faintest  lukewarmness 
towards  slavery.  To  have  a  copy  of  Henry  Ward 
Beecher's  Paper,  "The  Independent,"  in  your 
possession  was  sufficient  evidence  to  hang  you  on 
the  nearest  tree.  The  price  set  years  ago  on  Wm. 
Lloyd  Garrison's  head  by  the  State  of  Alabama 
was  never  repealed.  No  colored  citizen  of  New 
York  or  Massachusetts  (negroes  vote  in  these 
states)  could  go  in  a  ship  to  South  Carolina,  with- 
out being  put  in  prison  during  the  stay  of  the  ship 
in  port  should  he  attempt  to  land.  It  would  take 
pages  to  rehearse  the  numberless  ways  in  which 
this  clause  of  our  Constitution  was  utterly  scorned 
by  the  very  men  who  were  most  clamorous  for  the 
strict  observance  of  the  whole  instrument.  We  of 
the  North  honor  and  obey  the  Constitution  for  all 
its  wise  &  beneficent  provisions,  the  Southerners 
&  the  friends  of  traitors  at  the  North  howl  their 
admiration  for  it  only  so  far  as  it  is  interpreted  to 
protect  slavery. 

One  thing  more,  my  dear  Edmund,  &  I  must 
bring  this  long  letter  to  a  close.  You  say  "our 
Constitution  has  one  great  fault,  it  is  not  progres- 
sive." I  think  you  must  have  forgotten  the  Fifth 
Article  which  provides  for  its  amendment,  when- 


SLAVERY  CAUSE  OF  THE  WAR     155 

ever  three-fourths  of  the  several  states  shall  agree 
upon  any  proposed  revision.  Three  several  times 
has  our  Constitution  been  amended  to  suit  new 
wants  as  they  arose.  Ten  amendments  were  adopted 
in  1789,  an  eleventh  in  1794,  and  a  twelfth  in 
1803.  Really  this  seems  to  me  to  contain  at  least 
the  elements  of  sufficient  progress.  It  were  dan- 
gerous to  admit  much  more.  Forever  remember 
that  the  sole  solitary  cause  of  this  war  is  slavery. 
It  is  the  Alpha  &  Omega  of  the  whole  matter. 
Whenever  you  are  in  doubt  in  reference  to  past 
springs  of  action,  turn  to  slavery  &  note  its  bearing 
&  you  will  have  the  key  to  unlock  every  mystery. 
And  now,  you  dear  old  fellow,  do  let  me  hear 
very  soon  again  from  you.  I  look  to  you  to  recon- 
cile me  to  England  —  England  that  I  have  known 
&  loved  all  my  life  has  treated  me  foully;  I  looked 
to  find  fruit  &  lo!  my  mouth  is  filled  with  the 
Apples  of  Sodom  &  the  clusters  of  Gomorrah.  You 
must  give  me  a  new  England.  Good-bye  to  my 
old  love  &  welcome  to  the  new.  On  your  con- 
science will  it  rest,  that  England  has  one  enemy 
the  less  in  America.  So  write  at  once.  Thank  God ! 
for  Henry  Ward  Beecher!  He  has  done  nobly. 
The  other  half  of  his  work  remains  for  him  to  do 
here  in  America.  By  the  way,  I  have  written  this 
letter  solely  to  you,  talking  in  imagination  right 
into  your  very  face,  &  with  no  thought  of  others, 
but  if  you  think  that  any  one  grain  of  what  is  here 
written  can  do  the  faintest  good  if  scattered 
abroad,  cast  it  forth  for  the  roadside,  the  stony 


iS6       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

places  or  for  the  good  ground.  I  sent  you  a  photo 
of  the  "Scourged  Back,"  did  I  not?  was  it  new  to 
you?  I  sent  one  also  to  Carlyle,  simply  saying, 
over  my  signature:  "Please  observe  an  instance  of 
^hiring  for  life.'  God  forgive  you  for  your  cruel 
jest  &  your  blindness."  Wonder  what  he  thought 
when  he  saw  it. 

But  good-bye,  my  dear  Edmund,  pray  allow  me 
to  send  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Muspratt.  Blight 
sends  his  love. 

Now  mind  you  write  soon  and  always  believe  me 
Yours  affectionately 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Edmund  K.  Muspratt 

Philadelphia,  Nov.  14,  1866 
My  dear  Edmund:  If  you  were  anyone  else  than 
the  dear  good,  honest,  kindly  fellow  that  I  knew  & 
loved  in  Munich,  I  should  never  dare  to  write  this 
letter,  my  manifold  sins  of  omission  you-wards 
would  palsy  my  hand  and  freeze  my  ink.  But 
under  the  circumstances  I  shall  borrow  some 
London  assurance  and  take  your  pardon  for 
granted  since  I  so  earnestly  desire  it.  Why  should 
I  rehearse  my  long  catalogue  of  sins?  Your  last 
letter  unanswered.  Your  admirable  Lecture  un- 
acknowledged. And  your  nephew  unseen.  I  know 
that  I'm  an  abandoned  wretch,  but  will  you  for- 
give me  ? .  .  . 

And  now  in  the  revolving  years  this  dear  coun- 
try of  mine  is,  I  fear  me,  approachiag  another  and 


PRESIDENT  JOHNSON  157 

terribly  severe  crisis.  I  have  the  firmest  of  faiths 
that  it  will  pass  through  it  in  safety  and  then 
Republican  Government  will  have  stood  the  last 
great  test.  The  Republic  has  survived  a  gigantic 
rebellion,  the  Assassination  of  its  President,  and 
now  it  must  withstand  and  counteract  the  plottings 
in  the  Presidential  Chair  of  as  vile  a  traitor  as  ever 
it  fought  in  the  field.  There  is  of  course  talk  of  an 
impeachment  Sec,  but  I  hardly  think  it  will  come 
to  that.  It  may,  and  my  assurance  is  that  Con- 
gress will  not  attempt  it  unless  sufficiently  power- 
ful to  carry  it  through  to  a  deposition  of  President 
Johnson.  The  infliction  of  his  presence  in  the  Cap- 
itol is,  to  my  mind,  a  just  punishment  upon  the 
Republican  party  for  its  temporising  and  com- 
promising spirit.  His  nomination  as  Vice  Presi- 
dent was  a  truckling  to  that  vile  Border  State 
policy  which  for  so  long  hampered  Pres't  Lincoln. 
Johnson's  loyalty  was  simply  hatred  of  slave- 
holders, &  his  hatred  arose  simply  because  he  was 
not  acknowledged  by  them  as  one  of  them,  as  a 
gentleman;  he  had  been  a  traitor  and  was  con- 
sequently only  "poor  white  trash"  in  their  eyes. 
And  to  a  man  of  his  ambition,  socially  even  more 
than  politically  this  ostracism  was  to  him  intol- 
erable. When  therefore  he  became  President  & 
found  his  former  superiors,  the  haughty  gentle- 
men whose  faintest  nod  of  approval  he  would  have 
given  anything  to  v/In  in  years  back,  when  he 
found  these  very  men  on  their  knees  before  him 
begging  for  life  &  property,  courting  &  fawning 


IS8       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

upon  him,  flattering  his  every  expression,  it  was 
more  than  his  egotism  could  bear  &  he  has  become 
their  most  willing  tool. 

Thank  God !  these  last  elections  have  given  no 
uncertain  sound.  The  loyal  party  of  the  country 
is  firmer  &  stronger  today  than  ever,  and  every 
day  it  grows  more  radical,  and  even  therefore 
stronger.  What  the  extreme  radicals  at  first  only 
whisperingly  hinted  at,  is  now  openly  discussed, 
and  in  some  quarters  Universal  Suffrage  is  loudly 
proclaimed.  To  that  we  have  got  to  come.  It  is 
our  most  manifest  destiny.  And  I  can  see  how 
Johnson  has  been  Heaven's  means  of  unconsciously 
and  most  unwittingly  aiding  in  the  glorious  con- 
summation. Paradoxically  the  South  after  all  has 
been  the  best  friend  to  Universal  Freedom. 

But  I  must  stop.  My  time  is  up.  Do  write  me  if 
only  a  few  lines  to  tell  me  I  am  forgiven.  I  send 
you  by  this  mail  a  copy  of  a  speech  by  Carl  Schurz, 
one  of  our  great  acquisitions  from  Germany,  a  man 
honored  by  Lincoln's  most  intimate  friendship, 
and  of  Johnson's  too  on  the  latter's  very  first  ac- 
cession to  power.  It  is  a  masterly  speech  &  will 
give  you  an  idea  of  the  President's  treachery  far 
better  than  anyth'g  else  I  know. 

Tell  me  all  about  yourself.  How  many  children 
have  you?  I  have  three,  all  boys.  Can't  you  send 
me  your  Photograph.''  or  of  your  entire  family  — 
by  no  one  that  you  can  think  of  will  they  be  more 
highly  valued  than  by 

Your  true  old  friend 

Horace  Howard  Furness 


CHAPTER  IV     - 

I 867-1 885 

The  manifold  activities  of  the  Sanitary  Commis- 
sion did  not  come  to  a  sudden  stop  with  the  cessa- 
tion of  hostihties;  there  were  still  many  impor- 
tant duties  for  the  personnel  to  perform,  and  the 
demobilization  of  the  army  added  to  the  burden 
rather  than  lightened  it.  Pensions,  vital  statistics, 
relief  to  be  rendered  to  the  families  of  dead  soldiers, 
were  part  of  the  host  of  details  which  in  the  diffi- 
culties of  the  Reconstruction  fell  to  the  lot  of  the 
members  of  the  Sanitary  Commission.  In  these 
circumstances  Horace  Howard  Furness  was  not 
able  to  pick  up  the  threads  of  his  law  practice  im- 
mediately. Slowly  his  duties  connected  with  the 
Sanitary  Commission  diminished,  but  even  as  with 
the  gradual  shift  of  affairs,  he  found  time  to  return 
to  the  bar,  his  increasing  deafness  made  this  pro- 
fession less  practicable.  In  the  very  nature  of  his 
ailment  active  practice  became  impossible,  and, 
although  he  remained  a  Counsellor-at-Law  until 
1880,  the  duties  at  his  office  did  not  fulfil  his  capac- 
ity for  work.  The  study  of  Shakespeare  proved 
the  fortuitous  task  for  his  unoccupied  hours.  With 
the  need  of  the  Shakspere  Society  in  his  thoughts, 
the  experience  with  the  voluminous  "Hamlet" 
variorum  in  his  mind,  and  Fanny  Kemble's  fas- 


i6o       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

dnating  readings  In  his  heart,  in  1866  he  began 
work  on  the  New  Variorum  Romeo  ^  Juliet. 

To  assume  the  editing  of  a  New  Variorum  was, 
for  a  young  American  (Furness  was  only  thirty- 
three  at  the  time),  almost  a  Quixotic  undertaking. 
There  was  only  scant  attention  paid  to  Shake- 
speare by  American  scholars,  a  fact  which  not  only 
made  it  difficult  to  find  students  to  whom  the  editor 
might  turn  for  advice  and  counsel,  but  also  made 
any  publisher  wary  of  placing  an  edition  of  doubt- 
ful popularity  before  the  public:  the  risk  was  so 
great  that  it  would  fall  still-born  from  the  press. 
In  addition  to  the  difficulties  which  beset  Furness 
on  this  side  of  the  water,  there  was  grave  doubt 
whether  such  an  edition  would  be  received  with 
favour  in  England ;  the  ability  of  American  scholars 
was  not  at  that  time  rated  very  high,  and,  more- 
over, there  were  scores  of  English  Shakespearean 
students  who  were  prepared  to  criticize  severely 
any  work  which  they  might  consider  encroached 
upon  their  bailiwick. 

These  were  the  manifest  difficulties  that  at- 
tended the  editing  of  Romeo  y  Juliet.  Furness,  nev- 
ertheless, took  up  the  task  eagerly,  and  worked 
assiduously,  receiving  aid  and  advice  from  the  in- 
terested members  of  the  Shakspere  Society,  and 
counsel  and  encouragement  from  such  scholars  as 
W.  J.  Rolfe,  editor  of  "The  Rolfe  Shakespeare," 
Francis  J.  Child,  Professor  of  Rhetoric  at  Harvard, 
and  other  friends  among  the  learned  men  of  Cam- 
bridge. Edwin  Forrest  lent  his  copies  of  the  second 


THE  VARIORUM  SHAKESPEARE    i6i 

and  third  folios  to  the  young  editor  and  showed  his 
keen  interest  in  the  progress  of  the  work. 

So  Romeo  i^  Juliet  prospered,  and  when  the 
major  part  of  the  manuscript  was  complete  he  took 
it  to  J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Company,  of  Philadelphia, 
and  persuaded  them  reluctantly  to  undertake  its 
publication.  Their  consent  was  won  not  because 
they  believed  that  the  volume  was  destined  to  be 
a  financial  success,  but  because  they  desired  to  send 
a  volume  of  theirs  to  compete  for  the  medal  offered 
by  the  Division  of  Printing  in  the  Vienna  Exposi- 
tion, and  they  believed  an  edition  of  Shakespeare 
would  prove  a  fitting  and  suitable  entry. 

The  mechanical  work  of  publishing  was  started  in 
1870  and  the  publishers  mailed  a  prospectus  of  the 
forthcoming  work  to  students  of  Shakespeare  in 
America  and  England.  And  thereby  hangs  a  tale.  A 
copy  of  this  prospectus  reached  the  hands  of  Wil- 
liam Aldis  Wright,  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge, 
editor  (in  conjunction  with  W.  G.  Clark)  of  the 
Cambridge  Edition  of  Shakespeare.  Certain  of  the 
statements  therein  contained,  Mr.  Wright  resented. 
He  wrote  the  following  letter  of  protest  to  the  Lon- 
don Athenceum: 

"I  have  just  received  from  Messrs.  J.  B.  Lippin- 
cott &  Co.,  of  Philadelphia,  a  prospectus  of  a  new 
edition  of  Shakespeare,  of  which  they  announce  that 
the  first  volume,  containing  'Romeo  and  Juliet,'  is 
in  the  press.  It  is  to  be  edited  by  Mr.  Horace  How- 
ard Furness,  but  I  hope  it  is  the  publishers  who  are 
responsible  for  the  prospectus,  and  not  the  editor. 


i62       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

"The  prospectus  states:  *The  text  will  be  that  of 
the  Cambridge  editors  and  to  the  textual  notes  of 
that  edition  will  be  added  the  various  readings  of 
the  following  editors:  Singer  (edd.  i  and  2),  Knight 
(edd.  I  and  2),  Campbell,  Cornwall,  Collier  (edd.  I 
and  2),  Verplanck,  Hazlitt,  Hudson,  Ulrici,  Delius, 
Staunton,  Dyce  (edd.  I  and  2),  White,  Chambers, 
Halliwell,  Clarke  and  Keightly.  .  .  . 

"  'To  the  literary  public  we  beg  leave  to  state 
that  in  this  work  there  will  be  found  not  only  the 
textual  variations  of  the  quartos  and  folios  as 
given  in  the  Cambridge  edition  of  Messrs.  Clarke 
(sic)  and  Wright,  but  also  the  various  readings  of 
the  different  editions  since  1821.' 

"In  this  statement  there  is  a  misrepresentation 
so  gross  that,  whether  intentional  or  not,  I  feel 
bound  to  protest  against  it.  To  have  the  whole  of 
our  hard  work  thus  deliberately  appropriated  is  of 
itself  sufficiently  aggravating,  but  not  more  than 
might  have  been  reasonably  expected.  What  I 
complain  of  is  that  Messrs.  Lippincott  &  Co.  by 
their  prospectus  convey  the  impression  that  the 
Cambridge  edition  contains  only  the  various  read- 
ings of  the  quartos  and  folios,  and  does  not  contain 
the  conjectural  emendations  of  the  different  editors 
since  1821,  whereas  it  is  impossible  to  open  the 
book  at  any  page  without  seeing  that  our  plan 
includes  all  these.  If  they  choose  to  print  our  notes 
in  full,  we  are  powerless  to  prevent  them,  but  it 
would  be  better  that  they  should  say  so  plainly. 

"William  Aldis  Wright" 


REPLY  TO  W.  ALDIS  WRIGHT      163 

Upon  such  provocation  Horace  Howard  Fur- 
ness  could  not  remain  silent.  He  replied  to  Mr. 
Wright,  in  the  columns  of  the  Aihenceum: 

"It  was  with  the  greatest  astonishment  that  I 
read  Mr.  Wright's  note,  as,  in  my  simplicity,  I 
was  under  the  impression  that  the  adoption  of  the 
Cambridge  editors'  text  in  such  a  work  as  mine  pro- 
poses to  be,  and  the  use  made  therein  of  their  notes, 
were  a  tribute  to  that  edition,  which,  if  it  received 
any  notice  at  all  from  the  Cambridge  editors,  would 
be  courteously  acknowledged.  I  am  therefore  much 
beholden  to  Mr.  Wright,  for  thus  early  calling  my 
attention  to  the  matter.  .  .  . 

"I  now  proceed  to  answer  the  direct  charge  of 
*gross  misrepresentation'  contained,  as  Mr.  Wright 
alleges,  in  the  following  statement  in  the  prospectus 
of  the  'New  Variorum'  addressed  'to  the  literary 
public,'  to  the  effect  that  in  the  forthcoming  work 
'will  be  found,  not  only  all  the  textual  variations  of 
the  Quartos  and  Folios  as  given  in  the  Cambridge 
edition,  .  .  .  but  also  the  various  readings  of  the 
different  editions  since  1821.'  This  implies,  accord- 
ing to  Mr.  Wright,  that  'the  Cambridge  edition 
contains  only  the  various  readings  of  the  Quartos 
and  Folios,  and  does  not  contain  the  conjectural 
emendations  of  the  different  editors  since  1821, 
whereas  it  is  impossible  to  open  the  book  at  any 
page  without  seeing  that  our  plan  includes  all  these.' 
The  old  saw  of  Horace  comes  to  hand  in  a  very  mod- 
ern instance;  Brevis  esse  laboro,  obscurus  fio.  I 
cheerfully  apologise  to  Mr.  Wright   for  using  'to 


i64        HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

the  literary  public,'  a  phrase  which  I  should  not 
have  employed  in  addressing  an  exact  classical 
scholar  like  himself,  to  whom  the  words  varlae 
lectiones  convey  but  one  meaning,  and  that  their 
only  correct  one.  Had  Mr.  Wright  waited  for  the 
forthcoming  volume  of '  Romeo  and  Juliet '  he  would 
have  learnt  from  the  Preface  that  by  readings  I 
mean  the  texts  of  the  quartos,  folios,  and  editors, 
and  that  I  do  not  bind  myself  to  give  all  the  con- 
jectural emendations  with  which  conceit  and  igno- 
rance have  so  thickly  strewn  the  paths  of  the  Shake- 
speare student.  I  shall  never  cumber  my  pages 
with  the  nonsense  of  Zackery  Jackson,  or  of  his 
'copesmate,'  Beckett,  except  where  such  a  con- 
jectural emendation  as  'unawares'  for  'runaways' 
has  been  raised  to  the  dignity  of  a  reading  by  its 
adoption  into  the  text  by  such  editors  as  Knight 
and  Collier  in  their  first  editions.  Sydney  Walker 
and  Lettsom  felt  the  force  of  this  distinction  to  a 
certain  extent  when  they  used  the  word  'sophis- 
tications.' But  Mr.  Wright  asserts  that  the  plan 
of  the  Cam.  edition  includes  all  conjectural  emen- 
dations since  1821.  If  such  be  the  plan,  the  execu- 
tion of  it  is  very  far  from  being  either  complete 
or  exact.  .  .  .  [There  follows  a  long  list  of  errors 
which  H.  H.  F.  found  in  the  Cambridge  Edition. 
.  .  .  "Here  I  close  this  list  of  errors,  omissions, 
and  shortcomings  of  the  Cambridge  Edition  in  the 
single  play  of  '  Romeo  and  Juliet,'  and  I  do  most 
earnestly  assure  Mr.  Wright  that  I  never  should 
have  gathered  them  together  had  he  not  intimated 


REPLY  TO  W.  ALDIS  WRIGHT      165 

that  I  am  about  'deliberately'  to  '.appropriate* 
his  'hard  work';  but  I  gave  him  credit  for  every 
letter  of  it,  claiming  none  for  correcting  the  errors 
of  the  Cambridge  editors,  and  I  added  so  much 
more,  and  so  much  harder  work  of  my  own,  that, 
so  far  from  ever  having  thought  that  I  was  doing 
them  any  wrong,  I  supposed  that  I  was  merely  ren- 
dering more  complete  their  defective  observance  of 
the  excellent  rules  laid  down  by  them  in  their  Pref- 
ace: see  vol.  I,  page  xx.  But  this  is  now  a  matter 
of  the  past.  Indeed  the  textual  variations  which  in 
the  New  Variorum  would  be  almost  double  in  bulk 
those  of  the  Cambridge  Edition,  were  I  to  use  that 
edition  as  I  proposed,  which  now  I  shall  not,  have 
always  appeared  to  me  to  be  of  somewhat  secondary 
consideration  in  my  edition,  and  to  note  and  record 
them  has  been  far  less  difficult  —  the  'work'  of 
collating  between  twenty  and  thirty  editions,  far 
less  'hard'  than  that  of  preparing  a  concise,  ac- 
curate, faithful  digest  of  all  of  the  various  notes  of 
the  learned  editors  before  and  since  182 1.  This  is 
what  I  have  attempted,  and  hie  labor,  etc.  Add  to 
this  the  toil  of  scouring  the  French  and  German 
fields  for  stray  readings  and  conjectural  emenda- 
tions and  criticisms,  vague  or  otherwise,  and  then 
let  Mr.  Wright  talk  of  my  robbing  him  of  his  '  hard 
work.'  In  which  Preface  of  the  Cambridge  vol- 
umes is  there  any  acknowledgment  of  'Jcnnen's 
hard  work,'  the  first  editor  who  ever  attempted  in 
footnotes  a  systematic  and  thorough  collation  of 
the  quartos  and  folios.^    The  Cambridge  editors. 


i66       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

owing  to  their  having  access  to  the  original  copies, 
I  have  all  along  presumed  to  be  absolutely  correct 
in  their  collation  of  the  quartos  and  folios.  In  nine 
cases  out  of  ten  they  give  all  the  important  textual 
variations  of  the  editors  down  to  182 1.  But  if  they 
claim  more  than  this,  as  Mr.  Wright  does,  the  ef- 
fect will  be  to  cast  an  uncomfortable  doubt  over 
even  their  collation  of  the  quartos  and  folios.".  .  . 

The  Cambridge  editor  replied: 

"My  reply  to  Mr.  Furness  will  be  very  simple. 
Regarded  as  an  answer  to  my  protest,  nine-tenths 
of  his  letter  is  irrelevant;  I  leave  you  to  judge 
whether  the  remainder  is  satisfactory.  Mr.  Fur- 
ness appears  to  answer  an  entirely  imaginary  let- 
ter of  mine.  .  .  .  Nor  did  I  assert  that  the  Cam- 
bridge Shakespeare  was  infallible,  though  any  one 
would  imagine  from  Mr.  Furness's  letter  that  I 
had  been  rash  enough  to  do  so.  If,  with  the  worst 
possible  intentions,  he  has  been  unable  to  make  out 
any  better  case  than  he  has  done,  the  editors  have 
every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  the  substantial 
accuracy  of  their  book.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  "Mr.  Furness  endeavours  to  use  against  us 
the  tu  quoque  argument  when  he  accuses  us  of  not 
acknowledging  our  obligations  to  Jennens.  But  he 
fails  to  perceive  that  the  cases  are  not  parallel. 
In  the  last  century  (1770,  1773)  Jennens  issued 
four  plays  of  Shakespeare,  with  the  various  read- 
ings, not  by  any  means  complete,  of  the  quartos 
and  folios.    As  we  collated  every  line  of  these  for 


MR.  WRIGHT  REPLIES  167 

ourselves,  and  did  not  transfer  to  our  pages  the 
results  of  the  labours  of  Jennens,  I  cannot  see  why 
we  should  be  called  upon  to  acknowledge  an  obli- 
gation which  we  never  incurred.  Mr.  Furness  is 
compelled  to  take  our  work,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  he  cannot  do  without  it,  and  it  would  be  much 
more  to  the  purpose  to  say  so  at  once  than  to  vapour 
about  repudiating  the  obligation.  We  have  no  wish 
to  disparage  the  severity  of  the  task  to  which  Mr. 
Furness  has  set  himself,  because  we  know  by  ex- 
perience what  it  is;  but  when  he  talks  lightly  of  the 
labour  involved  in  collating  twenty  or  thirty  edi- 
tions, we  strongly  suspect  he  does  not  know  what 
collating  means. 

"One  word  more,  and  I  have  done.  Mr.  Fur- 
ness has  entered  upon  a  very  important,  a  very  la- 
borious, and  a  very  difficult  work,  and  I  doubt  not 
he  will  discharge  his  duty  as  editor  with  the  most 
scrupulous  conscientiousness;  but  if  he  hopes  that 
the  result  of  all  his  care  will  be  absolute  freedom 
from  error,  he  is  more  sanguine  than  I  should  ven- 
ture to  be.  I  sincerely  wish  that  he  may  live  to 
carry  out  his  undertaking,  and  with  this  wish  I 
leave  him,  only  bidding  him  remember  that  ^Suum 
cuique  is  our  Roman  justice.* 

"William  Aldis  Wright" 

Furness  answered  the  final  charges  of  Mr.  Wright 
in  the  following  letter  and  withdrew  from  the  duel 
which  from  its  very  nature  was  distasteful  to  him: 

"For  reasons  which  it  is  needless  to  state,  and 


i68       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

which  could  hardly  be  stated  without  further  pro- 
voking a  quarrel,  I  decline  to  reply  to  Mr.  Wright's 
last  communication  in  the  AthencBum  of  the  19th 
of  March  O'ust  received)  in  reference  to  the  New 
Variorum,  further  than  to  say  that  when  Mr. 
Wright  says  that  I  am  '  compelled  to  use  the  work' 
of  the  Cambridge  Editors  for  the  reason  that  I 

*  cannot  do  without  it,'  he  is  entirely  mistaken. 

"I  have  all  the  editions  that  they  had,  so  far  as  I 
can  gather  from  their  work  (except  Pope's  First 
Edition,  Rowe's  Second  and  Rann's)  besides  others 
that  they,  apparently,  have  not  used.  I  have  the 
Four  Folios  and  Mr.  Halliwell's  Facsimiles  of  the 
Quartos.  So  far  as  being  compelled  to  take  the 
work  of  the  Cambridge  Editors,  I  could  not  if  I 
would,  with  any  regard  to  the  accuracy  of  my  edi- 
tion, now  that  I  have  subjected  theirs  to  a  rigid 
scrutiny. 

*'So  highly  have  I  for  many  years  past  esteemed 
the  Cambridge  Edition,  that  even  at  this  present 
I  would  gladly  prefer  to  cloak  its  failings  with  back- 
ward step  and  averted  gaze.  But  since  Mr.  Wright 

*  strongly  suspects'  that  I  do  'not  know  what  col- 
lating means,'  let  me  say  that  in  the  textual  notes 
of  the  Cambridge  Edition,  to  the  single  play  of  '  Ro- 
meo and  Juliet,'  I  find  that  the  Cambridge  Edition 
varies  in  upwards  of  forty  instances  from  the 
Second  and  Third  Quartos  in  the  British  Museum, 
from  the  Fourth  and  Fifth  Quartos  in  a  private 
library  in  London,  and  from  the  Folios  in  this  city. 

"Although  for  many  of  these  variations  an  ex- 


END  OF  THE  TILT  169 

cuse  may  be  found  in  the  fact  that  copies  of  Quartos 
and  Folios  of  the  same  date  differ;  yet  this  excuse 
will  hardly  cover  more  than  double  the  number  of 
similar  shortcomings  which  I  also  find  in  their  col- 
lation of  the  different  editions  from  Rowe  to  Dyce. 

"A  list  of  these  Errata  and  Corrigenda  Mr. 
Wright  can  have,  if  he  wish  for  it,  in  the  columns 
of  this  or  any  other  public  journal  that  will  print 
them. 

"Life  is  too  short  to  be  spent  in  squabbling. 
Therefore  with  many  thanks  to  the  Athencsum 
for  its  courtesy  in  printing  my  last  long  letter,  I 
shall  persist  in  my  endeavours  to  keep  the  peace. 

"Horace  Howard  Furness" 

So  the  tilt  in  the  Aihenceum  ended,  and  It  may 
be  here  said  that  this  was  the  first  and  last  literary 
discussion  which  Furness  ever  undertook.  He  had 
a  sincere  repugnance  for  all  the  wranglings  be- 
tween scholars  in  the  columns  of  the  public  jour- 
nals. He  was  always  impressed  by  their  futility 
and  disgusted  by  their  degrading  influence  upon 
true  literary  work.  But  this  exchange  of  shots 
with  Aldis  Wright  bore  fair  fruit.  In  the  ground 
which  the  criticism  had  harrowed  was  sown  the 
seed  of  a  lifelong  friendship;  if,  as  Horace  Howard 
Furness  was  so  fond  of  saying,  "one  touch  of 
Shakespeare  makes  the  whole  world  kin,"  in  this 
case  the  touch  made  brothers  of  two  devoted 
students  of  the  dramatist.  Furness's  letters  to 
Wright  run  through  this  collection  like  a  vein  of 


lyo       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

purest  gold;  when  Romeo  Iff  Juliet  finally  appeared 
it  received  Wright's  instant  commendation,  and 
ever  after  the  learned  Cambridge  Editor  proved 
the  staunchest  of  the  many  friends  whom  Horace 
Howard  Furness  had  in  England. 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Philadelphia,  April  4,  1870 
My  dear  Mr.  Wright:  Your  very  kind  note  of 
the  2 1  St  ult.  I  received  only  a  few  moments  ago, 
and  from  it  I  learn  that  my  letter  has  appeared  in 
"The  Athenaeum"  (whereof  I  had  not  the  faintest 
expectation  on  many  accounts). 

It  would  be  difficult  for  me,  were  I  to  attempt 
it,  to  express  to  you  the  pleasure  with  which  I 
read  your  note.  All  literary  quarrels  (and  espe- 
cially Shakespearean)  are  to  me  most  odious,  and 
although  my  daily  profession  forces  me  to  live  in 
the  rank  infection  of  an  atmosphere  of  antagonism, 
yet  I  expect  a  purer  air  in  the  modern  world  of 
Shakespearean  literature. 

Of  your  very  kind  offer  to  verify  any  doubtful 
readings  of  the  collation  of  the  Qq  &  Ff  I  will 
gladly  avail  myself. 

I  have  carefully  collated  your  textual  notes  with 
the  original  Folios,  and  with  Mr.  Halliwell's  Fac- 
similes of  the  Quartos,  and  have  found  some 
twenty  or  thirty  noteworthy  discrepancies.  The 
majority  of  them  I  sent  to  Mr.  Halliwell,  fearing 
lest,  instead  of  finding  errors  in  your  notes,  I 
might  be  detecting  mistakes  in  his  Facsimiles,  of 


HALLIWELL'S  FACSIMILES         171 

which  it  was  but  right  that  he  should  receive  first 
notice. 

The  same  mail  which  brought  me  your  note 
brought  one  also  from  Mr.  Halliwell,  in  which  he 
says  that  while  the  originals  in  his  possession  con- 
firm his  Facsimiles  in  all  points  (save  one),  yet  un- 
doubtedly the  originals  collated  by  you  contained 
the  readings  that  you  record. 

Argal,  the  replication  which,  lawyerlike,  I  was 
preparing  in  case  you  should  attack  me,  falls  to 
the  ground  —  and  to  my  great  relief. 

With  your  permission,  I  will,  in  my  first  leisure 
moment,  send  you  this  list  which,  on  your  verifica- 
tion, will  be  simply  curious  as  illustrating  the  vari- 
ations in  copies  of  the  same  edition. 

With  assurances  of  my  great  respect,  I  remain, 
my  dear  Sir,  in  very  great  haste 
Yours  sincerely 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Philadelphia,  April  gth,  '71 

My  DEAR  Sir:  Your  kind  letter  of  ever  so  long 
ago  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  Mrs.  Furness's 
Index  to  Sidney  Walker  duly  reached  us  &  I  beg 
you  to  accept  her  acknowledgments  of  the  courtesy. 
I  learned  from  a  letter  of  Mrs.  Wister's,  my  Sister, 
that  she  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  &  of  the 
share  which  her  interview  with  you  had  in  render- 
ing her  visit  to  Cambridge  delightful. 

I  owe  you  many  apologies  for  the  delay  in  an- 


172       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

swering  your  letter,  but  indeed  in  my  case  the  plea 
of  lack  of  time  is  not  a  vain  one  —  every  hour  of 
my  day  is  crowded. 

Among  the  early  copies  that  I  sent  to  England 
of  the  Variorum  Romeo  &  Juliet  was  one  addressed 
to  yourself.  I  infer  that  it  duly  reached  you,  and 
am  I  not  correct  in  inferring  that  the  notice  of  the 
book  in  the  Athenaeum  was  from  you.?  If  I  be 
right  I  thank  you  therefor  very  sincerely.  Our 
paper  warfare  was  due,  I  believe,  solely  to  the  dis- 
tance between  us  —  indeed,  my  dear  Sir,  so  utterly 
has  all  thought  of  antagonism  vanished  from  my 
mind  that  I  don't  hesitate  to  send  you  the  en- 
closed list  which  I  am  sure  you  will  receive  in  the 
same  friendly  spirit  with  which  it  is  sent.  I  simply 
wish  that  you  may  gather  from  it  some  idea  of  the 
microscopic  scrutiny  with  which  I  have  collated 
the  text  and  that  it  may  be  of  service  to  you  in 
preparing  a  second  edition  which  I  hope  may 
be  speedily  demanded.  Some  of  these  Corrigenda 
(a  very  vile  phrase,  but  I  have  to  use  it  in  default 
of  a  better)  may  be  wrong  (I  have  not  revised 
them)  and  they  are  all  of  them  trifling. 

What  a  capital  note  that  is  of  yours  (is  it  yours) 
on  "one  touch  of  Nature."  I  wanted  to  sling  my 
hat  around  after  I  read  it  — 

Believe  me,  dear  Sir 

Sincerely  &  faithfully 

Yrs. 
Horace  Howard  Furness 


THE  TEMPEST  173 

To  William  J.  Rolfe 

Philadelphia,  27  Jpril,  1871 

My  dear  Rolfe:  Perhaps  I  ought  to  blush  at 
sending  you  the  enclosed.^  I  know  how  heinous 
it  is  to  put  Shakespeare  to  such  base  uses.  But 
"use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man"  —  and  so  for- 
give me  my  share  in  the  wickedness. 

How  comes  on  "The  Tempest"? 

By  the  way,  it  never  flashed  into  my  mind  till 
this  instant,  that  in  our  privately  printed  notes  on 
that  play  (a  copy  was  presented  to  the  College 
Library  in  Cambridge)  some  labour  might  be 
saved  for  you,  in  the  way  of  parallel  passages  and 
etc.  and  etc.  There  is  I  remember  a  very  exhaus- 
tive resume  (I  hate  that  word)  of  the  various  con- 
jectures about  most  busy  least.  And  I  also  remem- 
ber, that  an  interpretation  of  mine  was  received 
by  my  too-partial  brothers  with  some  favor. 

I  would  be  glad  to  send  you  a  copy  of  these 
"notes,"  but  they  have  now  become  as  scarce  as 
the  old  Folios  or  Quartos. 

Yours  very  sincerely 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

Some  time  ago  I  received  from  a  Thomas  Francis, 
Surgeon,  in  Acton,  England,  an  emendation  of 
that   passage   which   certainly   has   the   merit  of 

originality  — 

"  Most  busiliest  when  I  do  it." 
Heaven  save  the  mark! 

*  A  bill  of  fare  of  the  annual  dinner  of  the  Shakspere  Society, 
wherein  the  various  courses  are  accompanied  by  an  appropriate 
Shakespearean  quotation. 


174       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 
To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Philadelphia,  8  May,  '71 
My  dear  Sir:  Is  there  anything  on  earth  better 
calculated  to  teach  self-distrust  than  the  attempt 
to  collate  old  editions  or  to  reprint  a  Quarto?  I  am 
lost  in  wonder  at  the  moderation  of  our  ancestors 
in  restricting  to  printers'  boys  the  soubriquet  of 
devil^  and  in  not  applying  it  to  every  member 
of  the  establishment.  No  one  will  more  readily 
than  yourself  credit  the  laborious  pains  with  which 
I  collated  Ashbee's  Facsimile  and  your  Reprint 
(which,  you  rightly  conjectured,  I  used  to  print 
from).  I  fairly  rubbed  my  nose  over  every  word, 
and  glared  at  every  comma,  and  repeated  the 
same  process  over  the  proof-sheets,  and  yet,  out  of 
that  list  that  you  kindly  sent  me,  eighteen  un- 
pruned,  unlettered,  untrained,  unconformed  mis- 
prints seared  my  eyeballs!  And  I  dare  say  there 
are  lots  more.  If  it  be  not  too  much  trouble  I  shall 
be  greatly  indebted  to  you  for  any  others  that  you 
may  find. 

I  confess  I  am  much  better  pleased  that  you  did 
not  write  that  notice  in  the  Athenaeum.  What 
made  me  doubt  that  you  were  its  author  was  that 
it  spoke  of  the  Cam.  Ed.  as  being  "thoroughly 
trustworthy  and  scholarly,"  which  from  your  lips 
might  smack  of  self-praise,  but  then  it  asserts  a 
fact  so  patent  and  universally  accepted  that,  like 
Csesarem  vehis,  its  truth  is  its  justification.  Then, 
too,  I  doubted  whether  you  would  have  referred 
to  our  old  sparring  match,  especially  after  I  had 


SHAKESPEARE'S  GRAMMAR        175 

not  only  buried  the  hatchet,  but  smoothed  the 
ground  over  the  grave  &  endeavored  to  obHterate 
every  trace  of  the  fray.  But  then  who  else  in  the 
world,  I  thought,  would  have  taken  such  pains  to 
subject  the  book  to  so  speedy  and  microscopic 
a  collation  with  the  quartos  —  and  the  Trinity 
Quartos  at  that? 

I  am  glad  that  you  think  the  belief  in  an  Early 
English  provincial  plural  in  "s"  a  heresy.  Its  an- 
nouncement as  a  fact  grated  upon  me  harshly. 
We  are  apt  to  forget  how  much  Shakespeare 
wrote  by  ear,  and  that  too  by  an  ear  not  trained 
to  all  the  refinements  of  Grammatical  rules  which 
were  to  him  unknown. 

I  write  this  late  at  night  after  completing  my 
preparations  for  moving  to  the  country  where  I 
live  for  six  months  of  the  year  —  and  must  there- 
fore stop.  By  the  way,  my  permanent  address  is 
simply  Philadelphia,  the  name  "Lindenshade," 
which  you  very  naturally  took  from  Mrs.  Furness's 
Index,  is  our  country  home,  and  letters  so  ad- 
dressed reach  me  only  by  the  wondrous  accuracy 
of  the  Post  Office,  and  after  much  delay  which 
accounts  for  your  letter  of  April  8th  coming  to 
hand  only  a  few  days  since.  I  am  in  daily  expec- 
tation of  the  receipt  from  you  of  a  long,  long  list 
of  misprints  in  my  edition  as  a  Roland  to  my 
Oliver.  Accept  in  advance  my  hearty  thanks  and 
believe  me 

Very  sincerely  yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 


r/6       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 
To  W.  J.  Rolfe 

Philadelphia,  12  May,  1872 
My  dear  Rolfe:  If  any  one  had  told  me  that  I 
should  permit  ten  days  to  elapse  without  acknowl- 
edging one  of  your  letters  accompanied  by  a  book, 
I  should  have  seized  the  uncircumcised  dog  by  the 
throat  and  smote  him  repeatedly.  But  alas!  the 
older  I  grow  the  less  pride  I  take  in  myself.  I  shall 
not  be  surprised  to  wake  up  some  morning  and  find 
that  I  have  reversed  every  principle  by  which  my 
life  has  been  guided  hitherto. 

If  there  is  an  excuse  for  which  I  have  a  supreme 
contempt  it  is  that  of  "no  time"  —  and  yet  it  is 
that  excuse  which  I  am  forever  pleading.  My  days 
are  filled  with  a  round  of  trivial  duties,  and  when 
night  comes  I  have  to  peg  away  at  Shakespeare, 
for  these  Philistines  of  printers  are  upon  me  and  to 
read  the  proof-sheets  of  textual  notes  requires  the 
same  trouble  as  to  make  the  original  collation;  I 
verify  every  reading.  So  between  correcting  proof 
and  preparing  fresh  copy  evening  advances  far 
into  night  and  my  average  bedtime  is  about  two 

A.M.  .  .  . 

Aha!  I  found  two  mis-citations  in  your  Craik^s 
English  on  p.  283  (Note  341)  'Cym.  i.  5'  should 
be  Cym.  i.  4  (!!!!)  Where  be  your  Sccena 
now.f*    But  don't  let's  tell  anybody. 

I'm  very  glad  that  you  are  going  to  Europe 
and  pray  that  smooth  success  be  strewed  before 
your  feet.  Yours  faithfully 

Horace  Howard  Furness 


THE  PUBLISHERS  177 

To  W.  J.  Rolje 

Philadelphia,  Sunday  p.m.  1872 
My  dear  Rolfe:  Of  what  stuff  is  the  Public 
made  that  your  Sh.  series  does  not  advance,  with 
each  new  volume,  at  the  pas  de  charge  victoire.'* 
That  my  unworthy,  bulky,  overgrown,  and  obese 
Variorum  should  be  a  financial  failure  is  only  what 
a  rational  man  might  expect,  but  that  your  neat, 
appetising,  and  satisfying  booklets  should  not  be 
scintillations  of  success  is  what  "no  fellow  can 
understand."  The  publishers  are  your  true  scape- 
goats; it's  all  along  of  Harpers  and  Lippincott. 
They  ought  to  drop  every  other  venture  &  throw 
everything  into  Shakespeare.  Who  cares  for  their 
twaddling  Magazines.''  The  only  special  comfort  I 
can  give  you  is  that  in  your  marrowbones  you 
should  be  grateful  that  you  don't  live  within  ear- 
shot of  your  publisher.  A  man's  tongue  is  more 
rasping  than  his  pen  —  a  pen  sticks  deep  &  ink 
festers,  but  the  tongue  lays  bare  whole  hand- 
breadths  of  quivering  nerves.  "Mr.  Lippincott, 
you  put  the  price  of  the  book  too  high."  "Too 
high!!  the  price  has  nothing  to  do  with  it;  your 
book  wouldn't  sell  if  I  put  the  price  at  seventy-five 
cents."  As  I  think  I  once  said  to  you,  how  I  revere 
the  memory  of  Campbell  who  gave  as  a  toast 
"Napoleon  Bonaparte,  because  he  once  shot  a  pub- 
lisher." 

Nathless,  I  am  going  on  with  "Macbeth"  and 
hope  to  dismiss  it  with  "frigid  tranquility"  some- 
time near  February  —  you'll  know  when  it's  out, 


178       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

one  of  the  very  earliest  copies  must  find  its  way  to 
your  hands.  .  .  . 

You  have  never  told  me  how  you  enjoyed  your 
trip  across  to  England.  Did  you  see  any  Sh.  broth- 
ers.'' Staunton  is  writing  some  articles  in  the  Athe- 
nseum  on  "unsuspected  corruptions  in  Sh's  text," 
and  writes  to  me  that  I  can't  do  Sh'n  criticism 
more  good  than  by  a  note  to  the  editor  of  the  Athe- 
naeum expressing  the  interest  felt  here  in  such  and 
similar  articles.  So  you  see,  Shakespearean  whip- 
pers-in  are  needed  all  the  world  over.  'Tis  true, 
'tis  pity,  &c.  Let  me  hear  the  cheering  news,  dear 
Rolfe,  that  you  are  going  ahead  with  your  booklets 
and  believe  me 

Ever  yours 

FuRNESS 

Did  you  get  a  letter  I  wrote  to  your  English 
address,  sometime  in  July,  blackguarding  you  for 
hanging  over  the  fleshpots  of  England  while  I  was 
here  in  America  .f* 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Philadelphia,  7  October,  1872 
My  dear  Sir:  Your  copy  of  the  Clarendon  "Ham- 
let" reached  here  during  my  absence  on  a  sum- 
mer trip,  and  since  my  return  a  short  time  ago 
I  have  been  waiting,  before  acknowledging  my 
thanks  for  your  kindness,  for  a  leisure  hour  to  de- 
vote to  your  valuable  little  book. 

Your  explanation  of  "tickle  o'  the  sere"  carries 


THE  CLARENDON  PRESS  SERIES    179 

immediate  and  complete  conviction.  Hereafter 
let  no  more  Christian  ink  be  shed  on  that  subject, 
in  secula  seculorum.  The  same  may  be  said  of  Mr. 
Heath's  explanation  of  "mad  north  northwest." 
What  a  comfort  'twould  be  to  have  more  such  sat- 
isfactory notes.  And  here  let  me  venture  the  only 
criticism  I  have  to  make  on  all  your  Clarendon 
Press  Series,  it  is  the  feeling  that  constantly  ob- 
trudes while  studying  them,  that  the  editors  are 
cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confined  by  their  limits  and  b)- 
the  comparatively  juvenile  public  for  whom  they 
profess  to  write.  Scholars  have  a  right  to  demand 
the  time  and  the  learning  which  are  here  given  to 
boys.  Why  didn't  you  undertake  a  thorough,  com- 
plete Variorum?  You  had  the  chance  in  1864  when 
the  Tercentenary  enthusiasm  was  at  its  height,  & 
you  could  have  gathered  around  you  all  the  schol- 
arship of  England.  Your  sin  of  omission  should  be 
dinned  in  your  ears.  I  never  take  up  one  of  your 
Clarendon  Series  that  this  regret  for  the  lost  oppor- 
tunity does  not  rise  painfully.  I  shall  never  com- 
plete that  Variorum;  one  or  two  more  plays  at 
most  is  all  that  I  can  expect  to  finish  before  my 
death  —  But  I  had  no  thought  of  saying  this  when 
I  took  up  my  pen. 

Your  theory  in  regard  to  the  Quarto  of  1603  is 
very  plausible;  and  don't  you  think  it  could  be  ex- 
tended to  other  plays  also  where  we  find  marked 
contrasts  in  the  earliest  Quartos?  How  the  mys- 
tery thickens  around  that  man,  Shakespeare,  the 
more  you  study  him!  .  .  . 


i8o       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

Again  thanking  you  for  the  "Hamlet,"  I  re- 
main, my  dear  Sir,  very  truly  yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Philadelphia,  15  December,  1872 
Dear  Sir:  A  month  or  two  ago  I  wrote  you  a  few 
lines  of  thanks  for  the  "Hamlet"  that  you  kindly 
sent  me,  but  as  I  keep  no  record  whatsoever  of  my 
letters  I  can  now  neither  tell  the  date  nor  recall  the 
contents.  I  spoke  of  the  Clarendon  series  in  terms 
which  fell  so  far  below  my  true  estimate  of  its 
value  as  to  be  almost  depreciatory,  or  at  least 
negative.  I  sincerely  hope  that  nothing  in  my  letter 
bore  any  other  signification  than  that  of  complete 
admiration  for  that  invaluable  series.  If  there  were 
any  "buts  allaying  the  good  precedence"  I  pray 
you  ascribe  them  to  hasty  writing,  one  of  the  banes 
of  my  life. 

However,  be  that  as  it  may,  what  I  now  desire 
to  do,  for  my  own  satisfaction  solely,  is  to  say  how 
thoroughly  and  heartily  I  admire  and  applaud  your 
edition  of  "Macbeth."  And  now,  as  my  own  edition 
of  this  play  is  going  through  the  press,  each  day's 
proof-sheets  impress  me  anew  with  the  exhaustive 
character  of  the  notes  of  the  Clarendon  edition. 
Verily,  I  am  almost  tempted  at  times  to  dash  my 
own  aside,  and  give  the  whole  thing  up;  my  tex- 
tual notes  are  my  only  stronghold,  these  your  edi- 
tion lacks,  and  now  and  then  I  don't  care  much  for 
them.  I  remember,  when  in  London,  hearing  many 


CAPELL'S  QUARTOS  i8i 

years  ago  your  Albert  Smith  tell  a  story  of  a  coun- 
tryman of  mine  whom  he  had  met  who  proclaimed, 
"We  Americans  know  'most  everything  and  things 
we  don't  know  ain't  worth  knowing!"  Mutato 
nomine,  de  Clarendon^  &c.  &c. 

There!  my  dear  Sir,  I've  done  my  duty  to  my- 
self, and  borne  my  testimony,  at  least  in  part. 

Wm.  Goodwin,  of  Harvard  College,  wrote  to  me 
lately  that  he  had  passed  "a  charming  evening" 
with  you  in  Cambridge.  Again,  a  Lieut.-Col.  Med- 
ley, of  the  Royal  Engineers,  dined  with  us  and  said 
that  not  long  ago  he  had  passed  a  sort  of  a  math- 
ematical evening  with  your  fellow-editor  Mr. 
Clark;  and  lastly  we  had  the  honor  one  evening  of 
a  visit  from  Prof.  Tyndall,  who  told  me  that  he  had 
once  the  pleasure  of  looking  over  the  Shakespeare 
treasures  in  Cambridge  under  your  guidance.  So 
that  really  I  seem  to  have  grown  quite  intimate 
with  you  lately. 

The  mention  of  the  Shakespeare  treasures  re- 
minds me  of  a  favour  that  I  would  ask  at  your 
hands.  Not  long  since  I  bought  three  Shakespeare 
Quartos,  said  to  have  been  once  the  property  of 
Edward  Capell,  and  by  him  given  to  John  Collins 
(whom  you  recall  as  the  editor  of  Capell's  Notes) 
in  whose  family  they  remained  until  the  present 
time  when  the  grandson  was  obliged  to  part  with 
them.  The  volumes  are  full  of  Capell's  collations 
with  other  Quartos,  in  red  and  black  ink,  and  one 
or  two  MS.  notes.  Of  course  I  am  naturally  anx- 
ious to  be  assured  of  the  genuineness  of  the  hand- 


1 82       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

writing  which  can  be  done  best  by  a  comparison 
with  some  of  his  writing  known  to  be  genuine.  En- 
closed I  send  you  a  tracing.  Is  it  asking  too  much 
to  request  you  to  compare  it  with  some  of  Capell's 
that  is  accessible  to  you  &  to  let  me  know  your  opin- 
ion. Of  course  I  value  the  MS.  notes,  but  I  value 
the  Quartos  more  and  they  will  remain  to  me  even 
should  the  former  prove  to  be  counterfeit.  Pray 
don't  give  yourself  any  trouble  about  this;  it  is, 
as  you  see,  merely  the  gratification  of  a  more  or 
less  idle  curiosity  —  and  this  life  time  of  ours  is 
precious. 

Very  sincerely  yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

I' found  the  task  of  tracing  harder  than  I  thought; 
what  I  send  you  is  a  very  imperfect  counterfeit 
presentment,  and  will  hardly  serve  the  purpose,  I 
fear. 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Philadelphia^  222  West  Washington  Square 

4  August,  1873 

Dear  Mr.  Wright:  Among  the  very  first  copies 
of  "Macbeth",  that  I  sent  to  England  was  one  to 
you. 

Did  it  ever  come  to  hand? 

I  don't  write  to  exhort  a  "thank  ye"  if  ever  you 
received  it,  but  simply,  in  case  of  its  miscarriage, 
to  send  you  another  copy  forthwith  for  your  kind 
acceptance,  and  beg  you  to  believe  that  it  is  through 


TO  W.  J.  ROLFE  183 

no  fault  of  mine  that  almost  the  very  first  copy  that 
reached  England  was  not  in  your  hands. 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W,  J.  Rolfe 

Philadelphia,  30  November,  1873 
Dear  Rolfe  :  .  .  .  I  have  been  duller  than  the  weed 
that  rots  itself  in  ease  on  Lethe's  wharf!  (Confound 
this  pen!)  I  stagger  under  Hamlet  and  every  now 
and  then  I  cast  the  load  off  altogether  and  browse 
in  strange  pastures  and  then  go  back,  lift  a  corner 
of  my  old  pack  and  say  how  heavy  it  is,  and  then 
fall  to  pitying  myself.   So  it  goes. 

Mrs.  Furness  puts  me  to  shame  —  she  is  busy 
with  the  proof-sheets  of  her  Concordance.  She  has 
sentimentally  decided  to  have  it  of  the  same  size 
as  my  Variorum  and  for  convenient  reference  the 
Poems  are  to  be  printed  at  the  end. 

Where's  your  Photograph  that  you  promised  me 
years  ago.?  Go  right  off  and  be  took!  I  actually 
succeeded  in  getting  Collier^  to  have  his  tooken; 
he  has  a  frosty  but  kindly  face. 

Now  if  you  don't  scratch  me  off  a  line  sometime 
to  let  me  know  how  you  are,  and  what  you  are 
doing,  you  ought  to  have  your  eyes  picked  out 
with  a  balladmaker's  pen. 

Yours  faithfully 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

The  initials  on  the  envelope  stand  for  D — n  the 
pen! 

*  Robert  Paine  Collier. 


1 84       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Philadelphia,  222  West  Washington  Square 

7  December,  1873 

My  dear  Sir:  ...  I  thank  you  heartily  for  your 
kind  congratulations  on  the  appearance  of  "Mac- 
beth." Its  success  has  been  far  beyond  "Romeo 
&  Juliet,"  or  my  anticipations.  The  first  edition 
(of  500  copies)  was  exhausted  in  six  weeks.  It 
seems  now  as  though  I  were  fairly  in  for  it,  and  that 
I  must  ahead  with  the  other  plays,  although  at 
times  I  must  confess  my  flesh  quails.  The  manual 
labour  is  so  great,  especially  after  all  the  excite- 
ment of  the  chase  is  over,  and  the  good  done  bears 
so  small  a  proportion  to  it,  such  a  ha'porth  of 
bread  to  such  an  intolerable  amount  of  sack,  that 
my  heart  sinks  within  me,  and  I  feel  "like  giving 
the  whole  thing  up  at  once."  And  the  nervousness 
that  haunts  your  waking  and  sleeping  hours  while 
the  sheets  are  going  through  the  press  cannot  be 
exaggerated.  I  verified  in  the  proof-sheets  every 
reference  in  the  textual  notes  (and  I  suppose  you 
did  the  same),  and  after  all  I  have  but  little  doubt 
that  my  life  would  be  in  jeopardy  if  I  were  to  re- 
ceive a  stroke  for  every  misprint. 

I  have  no  special  order  in  which  to  send  out  the 
plays.  I  had  fixed  upon  Anthony  &  Cleopatra, 
simply  because  that  serpent  of  old  Nile  charmed  me 
as  deeply  as  ever  she  did  Anthony,  and  I  had  the 
collation  all  finished  when  the  demand  for  Hamlet 
was  so  emphatic  that  I  yielded  and  have  under- 
taken that  formidable  task.    It  had  to  be  done 


I 


HAMLET  185 

sometime  and  the  sooner  it's  over  the  sooner  to 
rest,  and  like  the  little  slave  down  South,  who, 
when  asked  why  he  so  persistently  kicked  his 
toes  against  a  stone,  replied  that  "they  felt  so 
good  when  they  had  done  aching,"  I  have  begun 
Hamlet  for  purely  selfish  reasons.  The  worst  of  it 
is  that  I  am  not  sustained  by  the  unbounded  ad 
miration  of  Hamlet  which  is  so  commonly  expressed. 
There  are  I  think  (but  tell  it  not  in  Gath  &  pub 
lish  it  not  in  the  streets  of  Askelon),  a  dozen  o 
Shakespeare's  plays  which  stand  in  higher  rank! 
Is  it  the  feeling,  which  I  cannot  away  with,  that  it 
has  been  laboured  over,  that  it  is  too  highly  fin- 
ished? Did  the  consciousness  creep  over  Shake- 
speare that  he  had  written  an  immortal  work,  and 
so,  like  all  self-consciousness,  mar  the  performance?  . 
The  more  you  study  other  characters  in  Shake-^ 
speare  the  grander  they  grow  —  Hamlet  dwindles. 
But  I  am  talking  vile  treason,  or  worse  —  nonsense. 
I'm  not  sure  that  my  judgment  is  unbiased  —  I 
bear  Hamlet  a  grudge  for  putting  so  much  work 
on  me;  when  the  work  is  finished  I  shall  probably 
think  differently. 

Mrs.  Furness  is  diligently  reading  the  proof- 
sheets  of  her  Concordance  to  the  Poems.  It  will 
take  several  months  to  finish  it.  For  the  sake  of 
easy  reference  she  has  decided  to  print  the  Poems 
at  the  end. 

You  make  me  blush  to  the  bones  with  the  ac- 
count of  your  labours  in  hand  and  prospective.  By 
contrast  my  life  is  spent  in  utter  sloth  and  indo- 


1 86       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

lence.  Never  mind  —  it's  a  great  consolation  to 
think  that  taking  this  life  and  the  next  we  have 
eternity  before  us. 

Believe  me,  dear  Mr.  Wright,  most  sincerely 
yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

Am  I  asking  too  much  in  begging  you  to  send  me 
your  Photograph.'*  My  mind  is  of  that  wishy- 
washy  nature  that  it  takes  great  delight  in  the 
outward  presentment  of  those  whom  I  hold  in 
choice  esteem. 

To  Edmund  K.  Muspratt 

29  April,  1875 
Dear  Edmund:    Lo!  I  send  you  the  counterfeit 
presentment  of  my  family,  except  that  of  my  old- 
est boy,  of  whom  I  have  no  photograph  on  hand. 

I  think  of  you  and  talk  of  you  very  often,  and  re- 
call the  dear  old  days  in  dear  old  Munich  with  un- 
fading pleasure.  How  large  a  share  in  that  pleas- 
ure you  occupy! 

I'm  a  better  correspondent  than  I  used  to  be, 
and  it  would  give  me  great,  very  great  pleasure  to 
hear  from  you.  I  suppose,  like  all  your  countrymen 
of  culture  &  intelligence,  you  take  a  great  interest 
in  politics  —  I  do  not.  There  was  nothing  here  to 
keep  such  an  interest  alive  except  slavery.  And 
that's  dead  and  done  for,  &  has  left  no  excitement 
that  will  not  be  well  managed  without  my  help. 
So  I  have  given  myself  to  the  study  of  Shakespeare, 


TO  EDMUND  K.  MUSPRATT        187 

and  to  the  education  of  my  boys.  I've  become  as 
deaf  as  twenty-seven  adders  and  live  a  most  se- 
cluded, humdrum,  prosaic,  and  utterly  happy  life. 

I'm  at  work  o'  evenings  on  Hamlet;  when  the 
volume  is  printed  next  year  I'll  send  you  a  copy, 
but  for  the  love  of  love  don't  read  it  if  you  wish  to 
remain  sane. 

We  sometimes  talk  of  going  across  to  England  — 
but  we  can't  go  without  the  children  —  and  to 
take  them  all  seems  little  less  formidable  than  to 
manoeuvre  an  army.  If  we  ever  should  go,  rest 
assured  I  shall  deploy  their  ranks  in  front  of  you 
and  we'll  ha'  a  gude  crack  anent  old  lang  syne. 

Pray  commend  me  to  Mrs.  Muspratt  whose 
photograph  with  yours  &  the  children's  holds  high 
rank  among  our  choice  ones. 

Good-bye,  dear  old  boy. 
Yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  A.  H.  Dooley 

Philadelphia,  222  West  Washington  Square 

25  May,  1877 

Dear  Sir:  Probably  my  letter  miscarried  which  I 
wrote  in  reply  to  yours  of  5th  February  wherein 
you  ask  the  same  question  as  that  in  yours  of  24 
May,  just  received,  in  reference  to  my  editing  all  of 
Shakespeare's  Plays.  I  therefore  repeat  what  I  then 
said,  to  the  effect  that  I  shall  probably  not  live 
long  enough  to  complete  the  Variorum  edition  of 
Shakespeare.  It  is  purely  a  labour  of  love  on  my 


1 88       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

part.    I  have  never  received  a  dollar  of  compen- 
sation for  any  of  the  volumes  thus  far  published. 

You  ask  me  which  edition  of  Shakespeare  I  con- 
sider the  best  for  "every-day  reading."  If  by 
"every-day  reading"  you  mean  one  without  notes, 
I  should  recommend  the  Globe  Edition  in  one  small 
volume.  If  you  mean  with  notes,  none  surpasses 
the  Variorum  of  1821,  which  is  unfortunately 
somewhat  scarce  and  decidedly  expensive;  it  is, 
however,  the  basis  of  all  other  modern  editions. 

For  the  general  "every-day"  reader  the  text  of 
all  the  various  editions  does  not  differ  enough  to 
make  it  any  matter  which  edition  he  uses.  When 
we  read  the  dramas  for  the  sake  of  the  plot  and  the 
charm  of  the  dialogue,  we  don't  care  to  stop  and 
discuss  a  difficult  passage  which  conveys  a  glim- 
mering of  sense  to  the  hasty  reader,  and  nearly 
every  one  of  the  difficult  passages  do  that.  We  are 
satisfied  with  that  glimmering  of  sense  and  we  read 
straight  on.  Choose,  therefore,  some  edition  in 
good  legible  type  and  on  good  paper  and  experience 
the  "purest  delight  that  the  drama  can  give."  If 
you  begin  to  discuss  critical  points  no  one  edition 
will  satisfy  you  —  but  you'll  want  all. 
I  remain,  yours  truly 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

« 

To  Francis  J.  Child 

Wallingford,  15  July,  1877 

My  alderliefest  Professor:  How  I  thank  you 
for  your  most  delightful  words  of  cheer,  which  I 


HAMLET  AND  INSANITY  189 

should  have  acknowledged  long  ago  but  that  I  have 
been  very  busy,  following  Walt  Whitman's  im- 
mortal example,  in  "loafing  and  inviting  my  soul 
and  giving  barbaric  yawps  over  the  roofs  of  the 
world." 

In  sooth  "Hamlet"  left  me  weak;  a  little  more 
pressing,  I  think,  would  have  made  me  join  the 
feast  that  was  toward  at  the  close  of  the  Danish 
tragedy.  There  is  a  terrible  strain,  and  I  ain't 
a-going  to  deny  it,  in  seeing  such  a  book  as  that 
through  the  press,  pursued  as  you  are  all  the  while, 
like  a  fate,  by  the  consciousness  that  every  puzzling 
passage  has  its  little  devotee,  lying  perdu,  all  pre- 
pared to  burst  out  and  rend  you  if  you  diverge  a 
hair's  breadth  from  the  direct  forthright. 

No  words  of  praise  can  come  to  me  from  any  one 
that  will  be  so  grateful  to  me  as  yours.  As  to  thank- 
ing me  for  writing  myself  your  pupil,  why,  bless 
me!  it's  one  of  my  proudest  titles,  and  one  which  I 
shall  never  resign.  This  reminds  me  —  I  saw  in  a 
newspaper  that  Harvard  College  had  honoured  me 
with  the  degree  of  M.A.  It  is  excessively  pleasant 
to  be  90  honoured  and  remembered  —  but  what  is 
to  be  done  with  my  old  degree.?  To  be  sure  I  can't 
pretend  too  much  respect  for  it:  I  have  never  used 
it  —  but  my  printer's  soul  wonders  how  Sibley  is 
to  "fix"  the  thing  in  the  Triennial. 

I  am  heartily  glad  that  you  scout  Hamlet's  in- 
sanity.   The  insanity  is  in  the  critics;  only  tell  it  \ 
not  to  Gath  and  let  it  not  be  known  in  Askelon 
that  this  is  my  opinion.  I'm  afraid  if  it  were  known. 


I90       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

I  couldn't  go  within  a  league  of  an  Insane  Asylum 
without  being  caught  and  clapped  in  a  strait 
waistcoat.  As  you  say,  we  are  all  of  us  insane  in 
one  sense  of  the  word;  that  is,  all  of  us  sensible 
fellows,  and  very  thankful  to  God  we  ought  to  be 
for  it  too.  The  Quakers,  who  come  the  nearest  of 
any  of  us  to  being  sane  (and  what  a  horrid  "drab 
world"  they  live  in!)  are  just  saved  by  their  in- 
sanity about  dress. 

Mrs.  Furness  sends  kindest  thanks  for  your  re- 
membrance of  her  —  while  I,  as  you  well  know, 
am  always 

Affectionately  yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Francis  J.  Child 

Wallingford,  5  August,  1877 

Alderliefest  Professor:  "My  heart  leaps  up 
when  I  behold"  (your  notes  before  me  lie),  "so  it 
was  when  my  life  began"  (at  College),  "so  is  it  now 
I  am  a  man,  so  be  it  when  I  shall  grow  old,  or  let 
me  die."  And  it  isn't  the  handwriting  that  so  de- 
lights me,  although  that  hath  its  great  charms.  A 
plague  on  all  legible  letter  writers,  say  I :  you  get 
through  their  letters  too  soon  —  that  is,  if  you 
love  your  correspondents;  there's  no  linked  sweet- 
ness long  drawn  out,  whereas  over  your  chirog- 
raphy,  which  I  would  fain  emulate  but  can't,  I 
pause  and  look  and  turn  and  twist,  and  reread 
from  far  and  near,  and  sometimes  give  up  in  de- 
spair and  am  on  the  point  of  relegating  the  expla- 


A  MYSTERIOUS  DEGREE  191 

nation  till  the  day  of  Judgment  when  there  is  noth- 
ing hidden  that  should  not  be  revealed,  when  all  of 
a  sudden  the  people  that  sat  in  darkness  see  a  great 
light  and  all  the  sentence  is  as  clear  as  copperplate, 
and  I  utter  selah  with  a  pensive  and  grateful  mind. 
You  remember  the  great  English  Conveyancer, 
Hayward,  I  think  his  name  was,  who  had  three  dis- 
tinct and  well-defined  handwritings  —  one  no  one 
could  read  but  himself,  a  second  none  but  his  con- 
fidential clerk,  and  a  third  that  no  one  on  earth 
could  read.  Don't  think  I  complain.  I  love  every 
indecipherable  scratch  of  your  pen,  and  was  really 
touched  by  your  last  note  at  the  thought  that  you 
should  have  dropped  your  pressing  work  to  give 
me  those  explanations  about  the  mysterious  A.M. 
In  recognising  your  hand  in  it  I  hold  the  degree  a 
high  honour.  Eliot  has  explained  to  me  that  the 
degree  of  A.M.  now  given  is  very  different  from 
the  old  boughten  one  and  I  am  grateful  for  the 
nod  of  encouragement  given  me  by  my  venerable 
Mother.  Critics  are  falling  foul  of  me  in  all  direc- 
tions for  saying  in  my  Preface  to  Hamlet  that  the 
Danish  Prince  was  neither  mad  nor  pretended  to 
be  so.  Though  I  have  reasons  as  thick  as  blackber- 
ries for  my  opinion,  I  think  I  shall  take  warning 
by  the  Indian  judge  Macaulay  refers  to,  whos^  de- 
cisions were  received  with  applause  until  on  an 
unlucky  day  he  gave  his  reasons  for  them,  and 
I  shall  maintain  a  discreet  and  masterly  silence. 

I  have  begun  to  work  on  "Lear"  and  am  read- 
ing endless  wearisome  German  stuff  on  the  viola- 


192       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

tion  of  the  family  relations  as  the  basis  of  the 
tragedy.  And  with  the  thermometer  at  90  degrees. 
Ora  pro  nobis. 

Ever  thine  always  and  all  ways 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Francis  J.  Child 

22  March,  1880 

Alderliefest  Professor:  You  have  not  often 
done  a  kinder  act  than  when  you  wrote  the  letter 
which  came  to  me  today. 

No  one  has  ever  yet  said  to  me  such  an  appreci- 
ative word  anent  the  labour  and  the  time  that  lie 
hidden  sometimes  in  a  fraction  of  a  line.  Not  in- 
frequently I  have  spent  a  whole  evening  in  hunt- 
ing down  a  single  quotation  —  I  remember  that  I 
once  went  through  every  page  of  Ben  Jonson,  and 
there  are  nine  volumes  in  GifFord's  edition,  in 
search  of  a  single  line  —  and  I  got  it.  I  spent 
nearly  a  whole  night,  till  cockcrow,  in  search  of 
"queasie"  in  the  Paston  Letters,  and  four  or  five 
words  absorbed  the  whole  of  it.  So  too  in  Latimer's 
Sermons  after  "flibberjibe."  And  sometimes,  as 
you  truly  say,  after  all  the  time  and  trouble  is 
spent  the  note  is  struck  out.  I  thank  thee  for  this 
word. 

Si  tu  valeas  ego  etiam  valeo. 
Yours  always 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

Such  letters  as  yours  compensate  me  for  every 
hour  of  toil  —  How  I  thank  you  for  it.  But  what 


THREE  INSOLUBLE  PROBLEMS    193 

right  have  I  to  talk  of  toil  beside  yours.  I  shall 
always  sit  most  humbly  at  your  feet  —  and  glad  to 
be  there. 


To  F.A.  Leo^ 

Philadelphia,  222  West  Washington  Square 

Srdof  May,  1881 

My  dear  Leo:  You'll  not  need  an  apology  from 
me  for  this  long  neglect  of  your  note  when  I  tell  you 
that  my  time  and  thoughts  have  been  entirely  ab- 
sorbed by  Mrs.  Furness's  ill  health.  I  took  her 
abroad  last  Summer  hoping  to  reach  the  Oberam- 
mergau,  but  we  got  no  farther  than  Heidelberg 
when  we  turned  around,  and  I  brought  her  home 
just  before  Christmas  not  so  well  as  when  we 
started.  Since  then  she  has  been,  I  trust,  improv- 
ing very  slowly,  but  still  improving.  And  now  I 
place  great  hopes  in  the  balmy  air  of  our  country 
seat  whither  we  shall  go  in  a  few  weeks.  Squaring 
the  circle,  perpetual  motion,  and  the  meaning  of 
"Vllorxa"  are  three  problems  which  the  mind  of 
man  has  not  been  created  capable  of  solving.  It 
is  therefore  no  disgrace  to  have  failed  in  any  one 
of  them,  and  you'll  not  bear  me  hard  if  I  confess 
that  I  am  not  convinced  by  your  explanation  of 
the  last.  But  this  I  will  say,  with  perfect  sincer- 
ity, that  I  think  it  excessively  ingenious  —  it  bursts 
upon  one  with  the  unexpectedness  of  a  stroke  of  wit. 
Your  other  emendations  in  the  Athenaeum  of 

*  Editor   of   the    Shakespeare    Jahrbuch,    and    President   of    the 
-'Deutsche  Shakespcare-gesellschaft "  of  Weimar. 


194       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

27  Nov.  I  have  not  seen.   We  were  on  the  voyage 
home  at  that  date,  and  my  back  Nos  are  lost.   But 
I'll  order  another  copy.   But  you'll  never  be  more 
ingenious  than  you  are  in  "Vllorxa." 
I  remain,  very  truly  yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Francis  /.  Child 

Philadelphia,  14  February,  1882 

Alderliefest  Master  mine,  we  have  here  on 
the  twenty-fourth  of  this  month  a  "foolish  banquet 
toward,"  to  which  all  the  leal  sons  of  Harvard  in 
this  neighbourhood  will  gather.  Eliot,  our  ad- 
mirable President,  has  promised  to  come,  and  our 
hopes  are  high  that  you  may  be  induced  to  accom- 
pany him.  I  cannot  express  to  you  with  what  gen- 
eral joy  your  consent  would  be  hailed.  Do  come, 
then,  and  "sit  by  our  side  and  let  the  world  slip, 
we  shall  ne'er  be  younger." 

And  I  am  unselfish  in  thus  urging  you.  It  is  un- 
certain whether  or  not  I  shall  even  see  you.  Mrs. 
Furness's  health  for  a  long  time  past  has  been  in- 
firm, and  although  I  trust  that  she  is  no  worse,  nay 
even  better,  yet  I  cannot  leave  her  even  for  an 
hour  without  becoming  horribly  nervous  and  dis- 
traught. In  my  fainness  the  other  day  I  invited 
Eliot  to  be  my  guest  during  his  visit.  But  since 
then  I  have  seen  that  Mrs.  Furness's  health  must 
debar  me  from  that  pleasure.  And  you  too  —  what 
would  I  not  give  to  have  you  under  my  roof!  But 
let  me  hope  for  brighter  times  when  such  choice 
delights  may  be. 


DEATH  OF  MRS.  FURNESS         195 

If  you  come,  the  Committee  authorizes  the 
assurance  that  you  need  take  no  thought  of  purse 
nor  scrip,  nor  of  the  "fond  shekels  of  the  tested 
gold."  You  shall  be  housed  in  the  same  hotel  in 
which  the  Supper  takes  place,  and  your  very  bed- 
room will  be  shaken  by  the  applause  which  will 
greet  any  words  which  you  may  speak  in  the 
dining-room. 

Think  it  over,  Master  dear,  and  under  no  cir- 
cumstances forget  that  I  am  always  and  all  ways 
affectionately 

Yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

The  illness  of  his  wife  encroached  farther  upon 
Furness's  thoughts  of  Shakespeare,  until  in  1882 
all  work  upon  the  Variorum  was  smothered  by  his 
immediate  concern.  After  their  return  from  the 
unavailing  journey  to  Europe  in  search  of  re- 
newed health  for  Mrs.  Furness,  every  possible 
means  was  tried  to  restore  it,  but  with  the  summer 
of  1883  the  signs  of  swiftly  increasing  weakness 
became,  alas,  unmistakable  and  the  years  of  un- 
alloyed happiness  were  drawing  softly  to  their 
pitiable  close.  The  sombre  days  of  autumn  came, 
and  when  the  thirtieth  of  October  dawned  that 
clear,  matchless  spirit  slipped  —  ah,  so  reluctantly 
—  from  her  husband's  arms,  leaving  behind  a  des- 
olation in  his  heart  that  never  knew  alteration. 

No  finer,  no  more  fitting  tribute  to  Helen  Kate 
Furness  could  be  written  than  that  which  appeared 
in  The  German  Shakespeare  Yearbook  for  1884: 

"A    wife,    the    faithful   fellow-labourer   of   her 


196       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

husband,  advances,  step  by  step,  by  his  side,  and 
adds  not  merely  light  subordinate  aid,  —  no,  she 
develops  into  the  learned  companion,  into  the 
elected  colleague  of  her  husband: 

"Witness  the  volume  of  the  Furness-edition, 
above  all  witness  her  own  concordance  to  the 
Poems. 

"Not  many  words  of  fame  does  she  need!  She 
shares  not  only  that  which  adorns  the  name  of 
Horace  Howard  Furness  —  aye,  this  fame  she  has 
increased,  and  has  her  own  good  share  in  it,  and 
the  sorrowing  husband  will  find  some  consolation, 
albeit  faint,  in  the  assurance  that  his  wife  will  live 
in  men's  minds  so  long  as  Shakespeare  is  studied." 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Philadelphia,  222  fFest  Washington  Square 

24  January,  1884 

My  dear  Wright:  You  ask  what  a  "lone  man'' 
like  yourself  can  say  to  me.  Indeed  you  have  said 
all  that  can  be  said.  A  pressure  of  the  hand  speaks 
more  than  any  words  —  the  pressure  is  warm,  the 
words  are  cold.  And  bethink  you,  which  of  us  two 
is  the  lonelier  now? 

As  you  say,  life,  a  merely  animated  existence, 
has  to  be  lived  out  to  the  end.  We  cannot  stop  the 
beating  of  the  heart  nor  the  heaving  of  the  lungs. 
These  must  go  on,  until  God,  in  his  pitying  grace, 
bid  them  cease  for  ever  —  and  we  must  live,  not 
from  day  to  day  but  from  hour  to  hour. 

Thanks  too  for  this  photograph  with  its  "frosty 
but  kindly"  face.    Would  that  you  could  change 


HELEN    KATE   FURNESS 


DEATH  OF  MRS.  FURNESS  197 

years  with  me  —  though  we  are  not  so  very  far 
apart,  but  every  little  would  be  a  great  gain  to  me. 

Did  I  ever  send  you  a  photograph  of  Mrs.  Fur- 
ness?  At  any  rate,  I'll  send  you  in  a  few  weeks  a 
phototype  which  you  can  put  in  her  "Concord- 
ance." 

With  manifold  thanks,  dear  Wright,  for  your 
sympathy  I  remain 

Affectionately  yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  SEYBERT  COMMISSION 

1883-1887 

With  the  realization  that  in  work  lay  the  only- 
true  nepenthe  for  the  great  sorrow  that  had  all  but 
shattered  his  life,  Horace  Howard  Furness  turned 
somewhat  eagerly  to  the  duties  connected  with  the 
Seybert  Commission.    At  first  he  was  impelled 
merely  by  the  anticipation  of  another  addition  to 
"the  daily  round,  the  trivial  task,"  but  even  as  the 
investigation    progressed    he    found    his    interest 
stirred  by  the  intricacies  of  the  problem  and  his 
sense  of  humour  awakened  by  the  incidents  of  the 
seances.    So  it  is  that,  as  we  gain  the  full  perspec- 
tive of  his  life,  this  work  in  connection  with  the 
Seybert  Commission  stands  out  as  the  touch  which 
overcame  the  inertia  born  of  his  irreparable  per- 
sonal loss,  the  spark  which  rekindled  his  lifeless  in- 
terest in  Shakespeare  and  induced  him  to  pick  up 
again  the  broken  threads  of  the  Variorum.    Were 
this  the  sole  profit  of  these  years  spent  in  the  in- 
vestigation   of    Spiritualism,    how    immeasurably 
were  the  world  in  debt  to  them  for  this  alone.   But 
of  itself  his  work  upon  the  Commission  is  singu- 
larly interesting;  it  formed  a  part  of  his  life,  and  a 
part  by  no  means  isolated  from  the  rest:  in  after 
years   he   referred   frequently   to   his   experiences 
during  the  three-year  search  for  Spiritualistic  truth. 


THE  SEYBERT  COMMISSION       199 

A  word  about  the  origin  of  the  Commission. 
Mr.  Henry  Seybert  shortly  before  his  death  in 
1883  endowed  a  chair  of  Philosophy  at  the  Univer- 
sity of  Pennsylvania,  in  memory  of  his  father,  and 
to  the  gift  added  a  condition  that  the  University 
should  appoint  a  commission  to  investigate  the 
truth  of  modern  spiritualism.  Mr.  Seybert  was 
himself  an  ardent  believer  in  the  doctrine,  and  the 
followers  of  spiritualism  were  at  that  time  even 
more  numerous  than  they  are  today.  The  an- 
nouncement of  such  a  plan,  therefore,  aroused 
much  widespread  interest.  Seybert  did  not  live  to 
see  this  condition  complied  with.  Early  in  1884, 
however,  the  Commission  was  appointed  by  the 
University,  composed  of  the  following  Philadel- 
phians:  William  Pepper,  then  Provost  of  the  Uni- 
versity and  Professor  of  the  Theory  and  Practice  of 
Medicine;  Joseph  Leidy,  the  eminent  anatomist 
and  biologist.  Professor  of  Zoology  and  Compar- 
ative Anatomy;  George  A.  Koenig,  Professor  of 
Chemistry;  George  S.  Fullerton,  the  first  incum- 
bent of  the  Seybert  Chair  of  Philosophy;  Robert 
E.  Thompson,  Professor  of  History  and  English 
Literature;  Coleman  Sellers,  an  Engineer  of  promi- 
nence and  distinction;  J.  William  White,  then 
Physical  Director  of  the  University;  Calvin  B. 
Knerr,  a  homeopathic  physician;  and  Horace 
Howard  Furness. 

This  was  an  able  and  distinguished  body  of  men, 
selected  from  many  various  walks  of  life,  and  they 
entered  upon  the  investigations  with  interest  and 


200       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

earnestness.  Although  Dr.  Pepper,  as  Provost, 
was,  ex  oficio,  Chairman,  Furness  was  appointed 
Acting  Chairman,  and  upon  him  in  this  capacity 
rested  the  chief  burden  of  the  Commission's  ac- 
tivities. It  is  interesting  to  note  that  at  the  first 
meeting,  when  each  member  declared  his  opinion 
on  the  subject  was  entirely  unprejudiced  either  to- 
wards or  against  the  doctrine,  Furness  alone  ex- 
pressed a  "leaning  in  favour  of  the  substantial 
truth  of  Spiritualism."  The  entire  Commission 
affirmed  its  readiness  to  accept  any  conclusion 
warranted  by  facts.  Although  at  all  interviews 
and  seances,  every  minutest  condition  required  by 
each  medium  was  complied  with,  and  although  the 
investigation  was  thorough,  covering  fully  such  as- 
pects of  Spiritualism  as  independent  slate-writing, 
spirit-rappings,  reading  sealed  letters,  materializa- 
tion, and  clairvoyance,  yet  was  the  Commission 
forced  to  announce  in  its  Preliminary  Report,  pub- 
lished in  May,  1887,  that  it  had  brought  to  light 
no  novel  fact  upon  which  a  belief  of  Spiritualism 
could  be  based.  To  Furness  this  failure  was  at  the 
outset  a  disappointment;  in  the  Report  he  says,  "I 
do  not  hesitate  to  acknowledge  that  I  have  been 
throughout  sincerely  and  extremely  anxious  to  be- 
come converted  to  Spiritualism.  In  whatever  direc- 
tion my  judgement  is  warped,  it  is  warped  in  favour 
of  that  belief.  I  cannot  conceive  of  the  texture 
of  that  mind  which  would  not  welcome  such  an 
indisputable  proof  of  immortality  as  Spiritualism 
professes  to  hold  out."  But  his  disappointment  was 


FRAUD  IN  SPIRITUALISM  201 

soon  changed  to  disgust  when  he  was  confronted 
with  all  the  wearisome  repetition  of  fraud,  deceit, 
and  trickery  which  his  investigations  disclosed. 
Yet  his  disgust  was  not  unmixed  with  amusement; 
much  that  was  ludicrous,  much  that  was  patently 
incongruous  appealed  to  his  keen  sense  of  humour. 
He  took  great  delight  in  enticing  the  "spirits"  who 
materialized  for  his  benefit  into  mazes  of  absurd 
assertions;  in  questioning  the  ethereal  forms  of 
eminent  men  who  appeared  before  him  upon 
obscure  and  disputed  passages  of  Shakespeare; 
and  his  report  of  his  painfully  assiduous,  albeit 
utterly  unsuccessful  attempt  to  develop  his  own 
mediumistic  power  is  incomparably  amusing.  The 
sarcastic  and  pointed  vein  which  runs  through  all 
his  contributions  to  the  Report  created  not  a  little 
stir  in  the  reviews  and  journals  of  the  day.  The 
devout  disciples  of  Spiritualism  had  not  at  the 
beginning  welcomed  "these  Seybert  men"  whom 
one  medium  stigmatized  as  "old  scoundrels  who 
should  never  darken  her  doors,"  and  in  spite  of  all 
their  clear  and  meticulous  notes  on  every  seance, 
backed  by  their  reputations  as  men  of  wide  intel- 
ligence and  deep  learning,  the  publication  of  the 
Report  brought  forth  much  acrimonious  and  de- 
famatory criticism.  The  levity  with  which  Fur- 
ness  described  his  experiences  especially  could  not 
be  brooked  by  the  true  believers.  Yet  his  position 
was  unassailable:  he  had  entered  upon  the  investi- 
gation with  a  mind  willing  to  accept  the  truth  of 
Spiritualism;  he  had  found  "fraud  where  he  looked 


202        HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

for  honesty  and  emptiness  where  he  had  looked  for 
fulness,"  and  the  only  fact  that  struck  him  was 
the  ludicrous  —  pitifully  ludicrous  —  methods  by 
which  the  mediums  deceived  an  unsuspecting  pub- 
lic. This  it  was  his  duty  to  report,  and  he  re- 
ported it  accurately,  and  truthfully,  and  if  he 
found  nothing  that  merited  his  approval,  he  was 
not  bounden  to  repress  his  sense  of  humour  or  his 
sarcasm  in  denouncing  the  deceit. 

Unfortunate  is  it  that  the  period  covered  by  the 
activities  of  the  Commission  are  lean  years  in 
regard  to  letters  of  Furness's  which  have  been  pre- 
served. The  only  references  to  these  investigations 
in  his  correspondence  are  found  in  some  dozen 
letters  to  his  children,  written  during  the  winter  of 
1885.  The  entire  tale  of  his  explorations  in  Spirit- 
ualism are,  however,  included  in  the  Preliminary 
Report  of  the  Commission. 

To  H.  H.  Fumes s^  Jr.,  and  W.  H.  Furness,  jrd 

222  West  Washington  Square 

2  November,  1884 

.  .  .  Last  Monday,  I  went  to  New  York  to  engage 
Mrs.  Margaret  Fox  Kane  to  come  here  and  give 
some  seances  for  the  Seybert  Com.  She  agreed  and 
is  to  be  our  guest,  next  Wednesday,  for  a  few  days. 
I  hope  the  spirits  will  cut  up  no  high  jinks  while  she 
is  in  this  house.  The  raps  and  knockings  were  ex- 
traordinarily strong  and  persistent  all  the  while  I 
was  talking  with  her  about  her  visit.  She  inter- 
preted them  as  manifestations  of  spiritual  pleasure 


A  STRONG  MEDIUM  203 

at  her  consent  to  come  to  Phila.  After  leaving  her 
I  called  on  Slade,  the  medium  acknowledged  by- 
all  as  being  one  of  the  very  strongest  ever  known. 
I  had  a  seance  with  him,  in  the  broad  daylight, 
and  certainly  the  phenomena  were  extraordinary, 
not  to  say  uncanny.  Strong,  vigorous  writing 
appeared  at  once  on  the  closed  slates,  and  the 
slate  was  at  one  time  taken  from  Slade's  hand 
under  the  table,  and  poked  up  above  the  table  at 
the  side  behind  Slade  (who  sat  sideways  at  the 
table  that  his  feet  might  not  be  underneath)  and 
farthest  from  him.  Three  good  blows  were  deliv- 
ered on  my  leg,  on  the  side  away  from  Slade,  and 
my  chair  with  myself  in  it  was  pulled  a  foot  away 
from  the  table!  I  felt  creepy.  I  didn't  know  but 
what  they'd  gouge  out  my  eyes  next. 

I  am  anxious  to  get  Slade  here  also,  but  his  com- 
ing is  doubtful.  His  health  is  very  poor,  being  very 
weak  after  a  stroke  of  paralysis.  .  .  . 

9  November,  1884 
Well,  this  week  we  have  supped  oflP  spirits,  but 
have  not  been"  intoxicated.  On  Wednesday  Mrs. 
Margaret  Fox  Kane  arrived.  You  know  she  is 
historically  interesting,  as  being,  with  her  sister, 
the  first  to  start,  in  1848,  the  vast  movement  of 
modern  Spiritualism.  She  is  a  small  gentle  little 
woman,  with  a  ready  and  sympathetic  smile, 
which  greatly  illuminates  an  otherwise  plain  face. 
There  is  so  little  self-assertion  about  her  that  she 
rather  wins  your  favour  at  first  sight.    She  has  a 


204       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

timid  air,  and  a  little  bashful  catch  in  her  breath 
when  talking,  so  that  it  seems  as  though  a  very 
harsh,  bluff  manner  would  make  her  acknowledge 
that  black  was  white. 

She  came  late  in  the  p.m.  only  a  little  while  be- 
fore dinner  —  at  which  we  had  a  pleasant  sociable 
time,  with  only  Polly  &  Miss  Logan  present. 
After  dinner,  and  while  Miss  Logan  was  still  at  the 
table,  I  thought  it  best  to  make  due  arrangements 
for  the  Session  of  the  Seybert  Com.  in  the  eve'g, 
and  to  that  end  asked  Mrs.  Kane  if  she  thought 
the  spirits  would  find  the  dining-room  convenient. 
Whereupon  a  most  vigorous  succession  of  raps  be- 
gan on  the  table  under  our  very  hands  as  an  indica- 
tion of  the  spirits'  pleasure.  Miss  Logan  sat  un- 
moved, until  I  turned  to  her  &  said,  "Do  you  hear 
the  spirits  rapping?"  And  then  you  should  have 
seen  her  jump.  I  laughed  till  the  tears  came.  She 
had  thought  that  I  was  drumming  on  the  table 
with  my  fingers,  but  when  assured  that  the  noise 
came  from  the  spirits  she  bounded  from  her  seat 
with  horror,  &  astonishment  on  every  feature, 
ejaculating,  "Bless  me!  bless  me!"  We  tried  the 
study,  the  parlour,  and  the  library  in  succession  & 
found  the  raps  especially  loud  in  one  corner  of  the 
latter.  But  after  all  the  dining-room  was  the  best 
and  there  the  Committee  met  in  the  eve'g.  We 
put  the  spirits  bravely  through  their  paces  for  an 
hour,  and  held  another  session  the  next  evening. 
With  neither  of  these  meetings  was  Mrs.  Kane 
satisfied,  but  we  heard  enough  to  serve  as  a  ground- 


MRS.  MARGARET  FOX  KANE       205 

work  for  our  conclusions  and  held  no  more.  What 
these  conclusions  were,  of  course  I  am  not  at  lib- 
erty to  say.  The  next  even'g,  Friday,  your  Aunt 
Nannie  gathered  a  group  of  eight  or  ten  friends  & 
they  had  a  high  old  time  with  Mrs.  Kane  &  the 
spirits;  the  latter  certainly  showed  an  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  the  family  affairs  of  some  of  the 
guests,  but  made  a  terrible  mull  of  It  In  sending  a 
message  to  your  uncle  Frank  from  his  father! 

To  George  S.  Fullerton 

November,  1884 

My  DEAR  Fullerton  :  You    remember   that    the 

members  of  The  Seybert  Commission  separated 

last  evening  with  the  understanding  that  we  should 

meet  Mrs.  Kane  again  this  evening,  If  Mrs.  Kane 

desired  it,  and  that  they  requested  me  to  lay  the 

question  before  her  for  her  decision. 

Accordingly,  I  had  an  interview  with  her  this 
morning,  of  which  the  following  Is  as  accurate  an 
account  as  I  can  remember. 

I  told  her  that  the  Commission  had  now  had 
two  seances  with  her,  and  that  the  conclusion  to 
which  they  had  come  Is  that  the  so-called  raps  are 
confined  wholly  to  her  person,  whether  produced 
by  her  voluntarily  or  Involuntarily  they  had  not 
attempted  to  decide;  ^  furthermore,  that  although 

^  The  complete  explanation  of  Mrs.  Kane's  power  was  explained  by 
Furness  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Edward  H.  Coates,  written  twenty-seven 
years  later,  on  December  26,  191 1.   Herein  he  says: 

"I  once  devoted  a  whole  winter  to  the  investigation  of  modern 
spiritualism  and  saw  every  phenomenon  in  the  spiritual  realm  except 
levitation  and  the  handling  of  red-hot  glass  chimneys  —  and  I  found 


2o6       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

thus  satisfied  in  their  own  minds  they  were  anxious 
to  treat  her  with  all  possible  deference  and  consid- 
eration, and  accordingly  had  desired  me  to  say  to 
her  that  if  she  thought  another  seance  with  her 
would  or  might  modify  or  reverse  their  conclusion, 
they  held  themselves  ready  to  meet  her  again  this 
evening  and  renew  the  investigations;  at  the  same 
time  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  add  that  in  that  case 
the  examination  would  necessarily  be  of  the  most 
searching  description. 

Mrs.  Kane  replied  that  the  manifestations  at 
both  seances  had  been  of  an  unsatisfactory  nature, 
so  unsatisfactory  that  she  really  could  not  blame 
the  Commission  for  arriving  at  their  conclusion. 
In  her  present  state  of  health  she  doubted  whether 
a  third  meeting  would  prove  any  better  than  the 
two  already  held.  It  might  be  even  more  unsatis- 
factory, and  instead  of  removing  the  present  belief 
of  the  Commission  it  might  add  confirmation  to  it. 
In  view  of  these  considerations,  she  decided  not 
to  hold  another  seance. 

Afterward,  during  the  forenoon  (you  know  she 
has  been  and  still  is  my  guest),  she  recurred  to  the 
subject,  and  added  that  if  hereafter  her  health  im- 
proved it  would  give  her  pleasure  to  make  a  free- 
will offering  to  the  Commission  of  a  number  of 
seances  for  further  investigations. 

nothing  but  fraud  and  self-delusion.  ...  I  have  had  as  a  guest  under 
my  roof  poor  little  Margaret  Fox  Kane,  and  detected  the  rappings  as 
made  in  her  poor  little  ankles,  and  when  I  told  her  so,  was  met  only  by 
a  sad,  faint  smile.  There  was  a  tragedy  for  you!  I  could  never  have 
shaken  off  the  gloom  and  misery  of  it  all,  had  there  not  been  a  humour- 
ous side  to  it.   But  of  anything  like  truth  in  it  —  not  a  shred!" 


MRS.  PATTERSON  207 

I  forgot  to  tell  you,  when  we  last  met,  that  yes- 
terday morning,  the  6th  of  November,  I  brought 
away  from  Mrs.  Patterson  our  sealed  slate.  It  con- 
tains no  writing,  so  Mrs.  Patterson  says.  During 
the  many  months  it  has  been  in  this  medium's  pos- 
session I  have  made  to  her  most  urgent  appeals, 
both  in  person  and  by  letter,  to  fulfil  her  promise 
of  causing  the  writing  to  appear  in  it.  Her  invari- 
able excuse  has  been  her  lack  of  time. 

I  Remain  Yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness' 

Acting  Chairman 

To  H.  H.  F.  Jr.  ^  W.  H.  F.  3rd 

222  fFest  Washington  Square 

16  November,  1884 

Our  own  darling  boys  :  I  always  like  to  give  you 
some  account  of  my  week  so  I'll  begin  with  last 
Monday,  when  in  the  p.m.  I  went  to  New  York, 
got  a  bite  of  dinner,  and  then  to  Slade's,  the 
"mejum's."  His  family  is  not  large  certainly,  con- 
sisting only  of  his  niece,  a  stylish-looking  girl  of 
some  twenty  "summers,"  but  very  deaf,  almost  as 
deaf  as  I  am,  and  his  amanuensis,  a  Miss  Hall, 
quite  cultivated  and  bright.  They  were  expecting 
me  &  received  me  with  much  cordiality,  and 
Slade  too  beamed  upon  me  with  a  sort  of  malicious 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  as  though  spotting  a  victim. 

At  eight,  quite  a  company    had  assembled  to 
witness  some  materialization  in  the  back  parlor 
by  a  Miss  Roberts,  a  nice-looking   young  things 


2o8       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

quite  too  nice  and  quite  too  young  to  venture  on 
the  career  of  deceit  which  she  at  once  proceeded  to 
display  as  soon  as  the  gas  was  extinguished.  It  was 
the  same  old  story,  of  which  I  am  growing  tired. 
Spirits  in  white  emerged  a  few  inches  &  retired,  &c, 
&c.  At  the  close  I  was  summoned  into  the  Cabinet 
where  the  medium  was  seated,  pretending  by  her 
talk  that  she  was  an  Indian  Squaw:  after  she  had 
clasped  both  my  hands  so  that  I  couldn't  feel 
around  in  the  pitch  dark,  spirits  punched  me  in 
various  regions  of  the  body;  from  the  location  and 
feel  of  the  punch  I  was  convinced  that  it  was  done 
by  the  medium's  foot  or  knee.  After  the  exhibition 
was  over  &  the  company  gone,  Slade,  the  girls,  & 
I  had  some  crackers  &  ale  &  discussed  the  evening's 
performance;  to  my  great  surprise,  the  whole  thing 
was  pronounced  by  the  young  women  (for  Slade 
discreetly  held  his  tongue)  a  most  barefaced  fraud; 
their  terms  were  unmeasured  in  denouncing  it. 
The  party  broke  up  at  about  eleven-thirty  and 
then  Slade  &  I  sat  talking  and  smoking  until  after 
one  o'clock.  —  his  talk  was  highly  interesting 
about  his  early  youth  &  his  experiences  abroad  and 
about  the  lights  and  shadows  of  his  chequered 
career;  he  is  really  a  very  pleasant  man,  not  par- 
ticularly intelligent,  &  by  no  means  cultured,  but 
he  has  a  plaintive  look,  &  most  modest  retiring 
manners,  far  removed  from  those  of  a  blustering 
charlatan.  Well,  then,  what  do  you  think.?  Can 
you  conceive  of  it.''  —  your  Father  actually  un- 
dressed and  lay  down  on  the  very  edge  of  the  bed 


A  NIGHT  WITH  SLADE  209 

wherein  Slade  was  already  lying.  Presto!  and  the 
fun  began.  I  can't  say  with  Ferdinand  in  "The 
Tempest"  that  "Hell  was  empty  and  all  the  devils 
were  there!"  but  the  Devil's  own  tattoo  was 
begun  on  the  footboard  of  the  bed  &  then  on  the 
headboard,  with  variations  of  sundry  punches  all 
over  my  body.  The  room  was  not  pitch  dark, 
some  little  light  came  from  the  stove,  but  if  Slade 
was  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  shindy  he  was  cer- 
tainly very  adroit.  In  the  midst  of  all  the  bangs 
and  thwacks  under  which  the  bed  was  shaking, 
plump  came  a  big  bundle  full  on  my  stomjack.  I 
enjoyed  it  much  &  begged  the  spirits  to  keep  it  up, 
and  they  did  for  about  half  an  hour  when  Slade 
gradually  dropped  off  to  sleep  &  the  racket  as 
gradually  subsided.  I  don't  think  I  slept  a  solid 
unconscious  wink  all  night,  and  at  7.30  crept  out 
of  bed;  this  aroused  Slade,  whereupon  the  noises 
again  began.  I  watched  my  companion  most 
closely,  but  could  not,  although  it  was  broad  day- 
light, detect  the  least  motion  on  his  part,  nor  any 
visible  cause  of  the  alarums. 

I  left  Slade  sleeping  &  went  out  with  the  young 
ladies  to  a  neighboring  restaurant,  got  breakfast, 
caught  the  ten  o'clock  train  for  Phila.,  reached 
there  safely,  stopped  in  Walnut  St.  &  had  a  Turk- 
ish bath  of  two  hours  &  so  home. 

Although  I  experienced  nothing  that  could  not 
have  been  done  by  clever  legerdemain,  yet  I  am 
very  glad  that  I  had  the  physical  endurance  to 
go  through  with  it.   To  pass  a  night  with  Slade 


2IO       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

is,  I  suppose,  next  to  passing  one  in  a  haunted 
house. ^  .  .  . 


A  Memorandum  for  the  Seyhert  Commission 

I  CALLED  this  morning  (Saturday,  14th  Novem- 
ber, 1885)  on  Mr.  W.  M.  Keeler,  and  told  him 
that  we  were  ready  to  investigate  [his  spiritual 
photographs]  if  we  could  be  allowed  to  watch  the 
very  points  where  material  agency  ceases  and  spir- 
itual begins,  but  these  very  points  Mr.  Keeler 
forbade  us  to  examine,  and  that  the  failure  rested 
with  him.  .  .  . 

I  endeavoured  to  impress  him  throughout  the 
interview  with  our  utter  incredulity  in  the  spiritual 
nature  of  his  photographs,  and  yet  to  give  him  no 
loop  to  hang  a  charge  of  discourteous  or  illiberal 
treatment  on.  I  asked  him  to  give  me,  in  my  pri- 
vate capacity,  a  sitting  at  his  earliest  convenience, 
and  that  I  should  not  be  satisfied  with  less  than  a 
cherub  on  my  head,  one  on  each  shoulder,  and 
a  full-blown  angel  on  my  breast.  He  laughingly 
assented. 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

*  Furness's  last  sight  of  Slade  (as  recorded  in  the  Preliminary  Re- 
port) is  interesting: 

"I  last  saw  him  in  Boston,  when,  as  I  was  passing  along  Shawmut 
Avenue,  I  caught  sight  of  him  at  a  window;  he  eagerly  beckoned  me  to 
come  in,  and,  as  I  settled  myself  in  a  chair,  I  said  to  him,  'Well,  and 
how  are  the  old  Spirits  coming  on? '  Whereupon  he  laughed  and  replied, 
*0  pshaw!  you  never  believed  in  them,  did  you? '" 


DR.  KNERR  UNMASKS  A  MEDIUM    211 
To  H.  H.  F.  Jr.  ^  IV.  H.  F.  3rd 

222  West  Washington  Square 

30  November,  1884 

.  .  ,  You'll  think  that  I  am  absorbed  with  Spir- 
itualism, but  "believe  me  I  am  not."  It  so  happens 
that  Dr.  Knerr  has  fallen  into  the  habit  of  coming 
here  every  Sunday  evening  for  an  hour's  chat,  and 
he  has  entered  into  the  investigation  with  great 
zeal,  and,  during  this  last  week,  with  great  result. 
Now  prepare  yourself.  Are  you  ready .^^  Well,  Dr. 
Knerr  has  unmasked  the  slate-writing  of  Mrs.  Pat- 
terson! By  a  long  course  of  apparent  credulity 
Dr.  K.  has  grown  to  be  looked  upon  by  Mrs.  P.  as 
one  of  her  firmest  believers.  So  last  week  Dr.  Knerr 
carried  with  him  to  the  seance  a  small  hand  mirror, 
which  he  so  adroitly  manipulated  under  the  table 
that  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  medium 
open  the  slate,  write  on  it,  take  out  the  little  pencil, 
close  the  slate  &  put  the  bit  of  pencil  on  top.  All 
the  while  his  attention  was  supposed  by  her  to  be 
absorbed  in  deciphering  the  written  communica- 
tions from  departed  spirits.  He  watched  her  rep- 
etition of  the  feat  three  times  &  then  came  away 
without  intimating  to  her  his  detection  of  the  trick. 
He  is  now  anxious  to  have  me  follow  his  example,  & 
perhaps  I  shall.  If  I  do  I'll  let  you  hear  further. 
I  hate  to  waste  so  much  time.  What  abhorrent 
deceit  is  met  at  every  turn  in  this  Spiritualism! 
The  very  name  is  becoming  a  stench  in  my  nos- 
trils. At  the  same  time  I'll  go  on  with  it  to  the  very 
end.  .  .  . 


212        HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

During  these  months,  In  which  the  Commission 
was  occupied  in  investigating  the  claims  of  Slade, 
Mrs.  Kane,  Mrs.  Patterson,  and  Mrs.  Lord,  Furness 
was  striving  patiently  to  develop  his  own  alleged 
mediumistic  powers.  His  amusing  account,  printed 
in  the  Preliminary  Report,  follows: 

"At  my  very  first  seance,  as  a  member  of  this 
Commission,  I  was  told  by  the  spirit  of  Elias  Hicks, 
through  Mrs.  Patterson,  that  I  was  gifted  by  nature 
with  great  Mediumistic  power.  Another  Medium, 
with  whom  I  had  a  session  shortly  afterwards  (I 
cannot  remember  his  name,  but  he  advertised  him- 
self as  a  great  'Australian'  Medium),  professed 
himself  quite  unable  to  exert  any  power  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  Medium  so  much  stronger  than  himself. 
*  Father  Holland,'  the  control  of  Mrs.  Williams,  in 
New  York,  assured  me  that  I  merely  needed  devel- 
opment to  have  Spiritualistic  manifestations  at  my 
own  home:  and  Joseph  CafFray  was  so  emphatic 
in  his  assertions  of  my  extraordinary  Spiritual 
capacities,  that  I  began  to  think  that  it  was  my 
duty  to  quicken  these  dormant  powers  and  not  let 
them  'fust  in  me  unused,'  and  if  successful,  when 
I  had  become  fully  'developed,'  I  could  offer  my- 
self to  my  fellow  Commissioners  as  a  corpus  vile  on 
which  every  experiment  could  be  made,  and  at  a 
great  saving  of  expense. 

"Spiritualists  constantly  reproach  investigators 
of  Spiritualism  with  faint-heartedness  and  lack  of 
patience;  they  allege  that  at  the  very  first  rebuff  all 
investigating  ardor  cools,  and  that  one  failure  is 
deemed  sufficient  to  condemn  a  whole  system. 


MEDIUMISTIC  DEVELOPMENT    213 

"If  the  case  be  really  thus,  Spiritualists  have  a 
show  of  reason  for  this  objection,  and  it  behooves 
the  Seybert  Commission  to  give  no  ground  for  It. 

"After  much  deliberation  I  decided  to  put  my- 
self In  the  hands  of  Caff  ray  for  'development.'  I 
preferred  this  Medium,  first,  because  he  was  the 
most  emphatic  of  all  in  his  assertions  of  my  almost 
unrivalled  mediumistic  powers,  and  in  his  confidence 
that  indications  of  Spiritual  growth  would  be  mani- 
fest in  three  or  four  weeks,  and  at  the  end  of  six 
weeks  or  of  two  months,  I  might  celebrate  my 
Spiritual  majority  by  slatefuls  of  messages;  and, 
secondly,  Mr.  Hazard  assured  me  again  and  again 
that  Caffray  was  the  'greatest  Medium  In  the  coun- 
try,' and  did  not  Mr.  Hazard,  by  way  of  proof, 
show  me  a  stoppered  vial  containing  a  card,  on 
which,  through  Caffray's  Mediumship,  a  message 
had  been  written  while  the  closed  vial  was  fast  held 
in  his  closed  hand.'' 

"The  first  step  was  the  purchase  of  two  slates 
from  Caffray,  for  which  I  gave  him  several  dollars. 
They  were  common  enough  to  look  at,  but  ah!  they 
had  been  for  months  in  his  Aiaterializlng  Cabinet 
and  had  absorbed  Spiritual  power  to  the  point  of 
saturation,  and  fairly  exuded  it.  I  brought  them 
carefully  from  New  York,  and  folded  them  in  black 
muslin,  and  laid  them  away  in  a  dark  drawer. 

"  Cafi"ray  told  me  that  with  a  beginner  the  Spirits 
found  it  somewhat  easier  to  write  with  French 
chalk  than  with  slate  pencil.  So  I  bought  a  box  of 
a  dozen  pieces,  such  as  tailors  use. 


214       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

"The  instructions  which  I  received  from  Caff  ray 
were  to  keep  those  slates  carefully  in  the  dark,  and 
every  evening  at  about  the  same  hour  to  sit  in  total 
darkness,  with  my  hands  resting  on  them  for  about 
a  half  or  three  quarters  of  an  hour;  to  maintain  a 
calm,  equable,  passive  state  of  mind,  even  to  think 
of  any  indifferent  subject  rather  than  to  concentrate 
my  thoughts  too  intently  on  the  slate-writing.  There 
could  be  no  question  of  the  result.  A  Medium  of 
my  unusual  and  excessive  power  would  find,  at  the 
end  of  three  weeks,  faint  zig-zag  scratches  within 
the  closed  slates,  and  these  scratches  would  grad- 
ually assume  shape,  until  at  last  messages  would 
be  legible,  probably  at  the  end  of  six  weeks,  or  of 
three  months  at  the  very  farthest. 

"In  addition  to  this,  I  must  wear,  night  and  day, 
a  piece  of  magnetized  paper,  about  six  inches  square, 
a  fresh  piece  every  night  and  morning;  its  magnet- 
ism was  exhausted  in  about  twelve  hours.  When  I 
mentioned  to  Mr.  Hazard  the  proposed  use  of  this 
magnetized  paper,  he  assured  me  that  it  was  a  cap- 
ital idea  —  that  he  had  himself  used  it  for  a  head- 
ache, and  when  he  put  it  on  the  top  of  his  head  '  it 
turned  all  his  hair  backward.'  I  confess  to  dismay 
when  I  heard  this;  Caffray  had  told  me  that  I  must 
wear  this  paper  on  the  top  of  my  head  under  my 
hat!  But  did  it  not  behoove  the  Acting  Chairman 
of  the  Seybert  Commission  to  yield  himself  a  will- 
ing victim  to  the  cause  of  Psychical  Research  f  was 
to  be,  or  not  to  be,  a  Medium  so  evenly  balanced 
that  the  turning  of  a  hair,  or  of  a  whole  head  of 


JOSEPH  CAFFRAY'S  SLATES   215 

hair  was  to  repel  me?  Perish  the  thought!  That 
paper  should  be  worn  on  the  top  of  my  head,  under 
my  hat,  and  that  hat  should  be  worn  all  day  long. 
I  would  eat  my  breakfast  with  my  hat  on,  eat  my 
dinner  with  my  hat  on,  and  sleep  with  that  hat  on, 
and  that  magnetized  paper  should  remain  on  the 
top  of  my  head,  let  it  turn  my  hair  to  all  the  points 
of  the  compass,  if  it  would! 

"When  I  received  the  slates  from  Caff  ray,  he 
had  no  paper  that  was  sufficiently  magnetized 
just  then;  he  had  some  sheets  that  were  about 
half  done,  and  promised  to  send  them  to  me  as  soon 
as  the  process  was  complete. 

"In  the  meantime  I  began  with  the  slates,  sit- 
ting with  them  in  total  darkness  from  about  quar- 
ter past  eight  to  nine  o'clock  every  evening,  with 
my  hands  resting  on  them  lightly. 

"In  three  or  four  days  the  paper  arrived.  I  ex- 
plained to  my  family  that  hereafter  they  must  not 
infer,  from  the  wearing  of  my  hat  indoors  and  at 
meals,  either  that  my  wits  had  slipped,  or  that  I 
had  become  converted  to  Judaism,  but  that  my 
conduct  was  to  be  viewed  by  the  light  of  the  pure 
flame  of  research.  In  my  secret  soul  I  resolved  that 
I  would  go  at  once,  that  very  morning,  to  New  York 
and  plead  with  Caff  ray  for  some  slight  easing  of  my 
ordeal.  The  'Spectre  of  the  Threshold'  appeared 
to  wear  a  silk  hat,  and  I  was  afraid  I  never,  never 
should  pass  him. 

"The  magnetized  paper  I  handled  with  awe.  It 
was,  in  outward  semblance,  ordinary  white  blot- 


2i6       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

ting-paper,  and,  from  some  faint  indications  of  ink 
here  and  there,  looked  as  though  it  might  on  occa- 
sion have  served  its  original  use;  but  had  I  not  paid 
a  dollar  a  sheet  for  it?   It  must  be  good. 

"As  I  started  for  the  train  I  put  a  piece  on  the  top 
of  my  head,  gave  a  fond,  farewell  look  at  my  hair, 
and  planted  my  hat  firmly  on  my  brows.  I  reached 
the  train,  and  while  looking  for  a  seat  caught  sight 

of  my  friend.  Miss  W .    Of  course  I  instantly 

bowed,  and  instantly  there  came  fluttering  down  be- 
fore her  astonished  and  bewildered  eyes  a  piece  of 
blotting-paper.  I  snatched  it  hastily,  and  in  terror 
lest  already  I  had  broken  the  charm  and  forfeited 
all  chance  of  Mediumship,  retired  to  the  rear  of 
the  car  and  furtively  replaced  the  precious  pad. 
Decidedly  I  must  see  Caffray  at  once. 

"Luckily,  when  I  reached  New  York  I  found  that 
eminent  Medium  at  home.  ^Bonneted,'  I  rehearsed 
to  him  my  dread  anticipations.  He  could  not  re- 
press a  grim  laugh,  and  to  my  inexpressible  re- 
lief gave  me  permission  to  wear  the  paper  sus- 
pended round  my  neck  next  the  skin. 

"With  these  precious  slates  I  sat  every  night,  at 
the  same  hour,  in  darkness.  I  allowed  nothing  to 
interfere  with  this  duty;  no  call  of  family,  of  friends, 
of  society,  was  heeded.  At  the  end  of  three  weeks  I 
searched  every  molecule  of  the  slates  for  the  in- 
dication of  a  zig-zag  line,  but  the  surface  was  un- 
sullied, and  its  black  monotony  returned  stare  for 
stare. 

'Still  hopeful  and  trustful,  I  continued  day  by 


H  I 


JOSEPH  CAFFRAY'S  SLATES    217 

day,  and  week  by  week.  The  six  weeks  expired. 
Not  a  zig,  nor  a  zag.-  Caffray  was  kept  busy  mag- 
netizing paper.  I  renewed  my  stock  and  determined 
to  push  on  for  two  months.  I  moved  to  the  country 
and  carried  my  slates  thither,  wrapped  in  double 
folds  of  black  muslin.  The  days  and  weeks  rolled 
on.  Two  months  passed.  The  slates  were  as  clean 
as  when  they  came  into  my  possession.  I  would 
go  on  to  three  months.  Does  not  a  hen  set  for 
three  weeks.''  Where  a  hen  gives  a  week,  shall  I 
not  give  a  month?  Is  not  a  Medium  worth  more 
than  a  chicken.''  'Courage!'  cried  Caffray  with  each 
batch  of  paper.  I  went  to  the  seashore  and  my 
slates  went  with  me.  Not  a  single  evening  did  I 
break  my  rule. 

"And  so  it  went  on.  The  three  months  became 
four;  became  five;  became  six! 

"And  there  an  end,  with  absolutely  virgin  slates. 

"I  had  used  enough  blotting-paper,  it  seemed 
to  me,  to  absorb  a  spot  on  the  sun.  I  dare  not  cal- 
culate the  number  of  hours  I  had  spent  in  dark- 
ness. 

"Let  Spiritualistic  reproaches  of  investigators 
for  lack  of  zeal  and  patience  be  heaped  up  here- 
after till  'Ossa  become  a  wart';  I  care  not;  my 
withers  are  unwrung. 

^^ Punch  gives  a  receipt  for  making  'Gooseberry 
Fool':  'Carefully  skin  your  gooseberries,  extract 
the  seeds  and  wash  the  pulp  in  three  waters  for  six 
hours  each.  Having  done  this  with  the  gooseberries, 
the  Fool  is  perfect.'  " 


2i8       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 
To  H.  H.  F.  Jr.  ^  W.  H.  F.  3rd 

222  West  Washington  Square 

14  December,  1884 

.  .  .  What  I  saw  at  the  see-ance  of  the  Berry  sis- 
ters on  the  evening  of  the  day  I  left  you  I  shall  re-, 
serve  until  we  meet.  It  sufficeth  to  say  that  after 
I  left  the  house,  for  the  first  time  in  my  experience, 
I  felt  thoroughly  outraged  and  indignant,  &  that 
had  it  not  been  that  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  catch  my 
train  &  had  to  run  for  a  horse-car  just  passing,  I 
think  I  should  have  stopped  to  find  a  stone  to 
throw  at  the  house  in  the  hopes  of  breaking  one 
window  at  least.  It  was  the  most  abominable  fraud 
I  ever  witnessed,  abominable  because  it  deceived 
the  tenderest  feelings  of  our  poor  human  nature!.  .  . 

To  H.  H.  F.  Jr.  y  W.  H.  F.  3rd 

15  March,  1885 
...  I  HAVE  nothing  new  but  the  unmasking  of  a 
wretched  Boston  cheat  named  Mansfield,  who 
pretends  to  send  answers,  obtained  by  spiritual 
agency,  to  questions  in  sealed  envelopes.  It's  a 
long  story  which  I  will  tell  you  at  length  some  day; 
suffice  it  now  to  say  that  when  my  sealed  envelope 
was  returned  to  me,  I  cut  it  open  at  the  back,  and 
the  rents  on  the  front  caused  by  tearing  off  the 
seals  stood  revealed.  I  am  about  tired  out  with 
wading  through  this  slough  of  lies  and  deceit, 
called  Spiritualism.  I  cannot  affirm  that  there  is 
not  firm  ground  of  truth  somewhere  in  it.  Every 
now  and  then  I  hear  such  marvellous  stories,  so 


A  FLOWER-MEDIUM  219 

well  authenticated  that  I  am  staggered.  I  am  de- 
termined not  to  lose  patience,  but  to  go  ahead 
until  I  can  go  no  farther.  If  there  is  any  residuum, 
it  is  in  clairvoyance,  and  a  certain  amount  of  mind 
reading.  The  mischief  of  it  is  that  this  clairvoyance 
is  so  constantly  helped  out  by  trickery  that  a  shade 
of  mistrust  is  cast  over  the  whole  of  it.  .  .  . 

To  H.  H.  F.  Jr.  y  W.  H.  F.  3rd 

222  West  Washington  Square 

25  April,  '86 

Our  darling  boys:  Another  week  has  gone, 
wherein  almost  each  day  I  have  resolved  that  I 
would  start  for  Boston.  Since  great  bodies  not 
only  move  slowly,  but  start  with  difficulty,  I  have 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  am  a  great  body.  As 
soon  as  I  grow  less,  you  may  entertain  better  hopes 
of  seeing  me.  I  have  now  proclaimed  my  resolve  to 
start  next  Tuesday  eve'g  at  halfpast  six  but  next 
Tuesday  at  halfpast  five  something  may  turn  up 
and  halfpast  six  may  see  me  here  quietly  at  dinner. 
Last  Friday,  I  went  to  New  York  my  handbag 
packed  for  a  two  days'  sojourn,  but  I  grew  so  fear- 
fully bored  before  the  day  was  over  that  I  came 
back  in  the  afternoon.  I  saw  a  Mrs.  Thayer,  very 
celebrated  in  Spiritualist  circles  as  a  "flower- 
medium."  As  spirits  can  materialize  flowers  only 
once  a  week,  and  as  that  didn't  happen  to  be  their 
day,  I  had  to  content  myself  with  an  exhibition  of 
"independent  slatewriting."  I  received  a  message 
from  Charles  Foster,  a  noted  medium  lately  de- 


220       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

ceased,  who  assured  me  that  "Marie"  was  present. 
Mrs.  Thayer  did  not  know  who  I  was,  and  when  I 
proposed  that  she  should  come  to  Philadelphia,  & 
give  a  seance  to  the  Seybert  Commission,  she  re- 
fused point-blank  and  pronounced  that  respect- 
able Commission  a  "set  of  noodles  and  scally- 
wags!" "Not  one  of  'em,"  she  said,  "should  ever 
sit  with  her;  she  wouldn't  let  one  of  'em  come  into 
her  room!"  She  was  very  curious  to  know  why 
I  laughed  so  heartily;  I  told  her  that  Mrs.  Grey 
(who  lives  in  the  same  house  and  knows  me)  would 
tell  her.  After  the  sitting  was  over,  Mrs.  Grey  was 
at  once  appealed  to,  and  Mrs.  Thayer's  confusion 
at  learning  that  I  was  "merely  the  Chairman  of 
that  Commission"  was  extreme.  .  .  , 

The  words  In  which  Furness  closes  the  Prelim- 
inary Report  are  a  fitting  ending  to  this  chapter: 

"Although  I  have  been  thus  thwarted  at  every 
turn  in  my  investigations  of  Spiritualism,  and 
found  fraud  where  I  looked  for  honesty,  and 
emptiness  where  I  had  hoped  for  fulness,  I  cannot 
think  it  right  to  pass  a  verdict,  universal  in  its 
application,  where  far  less  than  the  universe  of 
Spiritualism  has  been  observed.  My  field  of  ex- 
amination has  been  limited.  There  is  an  outlying 
region  claimed  by  Spiritualists  which  I  have  not 
touched,  and  into  which  I  would  gladly  enter,  were 
there  any  prospect  that  I  should  meet  with  more 
success.  I  am  too  deeply  imbued  with  the  belief 
that  we  are  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  on,  to  be 


THE  SEYBERT  REPORT  221 

unwilling  to  accept  a  few  more  shadows  in  my 
sleep.  Unfortunately,  in  my  experience,  Dante's 
motto  must  be  inscribed  over  an  investigation  of 
Spiritualism,  and  all  hope  must  be  abandoned  by 
those  who  enter  it.". 


CHAPTER  VI 

I 884-1 892 

In  the  spring  of  1884,  after  a  winter  spent  amid 
the  distracting  activities  of  the  Seybert  Commis- 
sion, Furness  again  turned  with  heavy  heart  to 
the  Variorum.  His  labour  upon  the  first  four 
volumes,  culminating  in  King  Lear  in  1880,  he 
had  characterized  as  "the  heavenliest  play." 
Through  all  that  busy  decade  he  had  beside  him 
one  who  was  ever  ready  to  encourage  or  to  counsel, 
to  whom  he  could  turn  at  all  times  for  advice  or 
for  aid,  who  was  indeed  the  very  inspiration  of 
his  work.  We  can  conceive,  then,  how  reluctantly 
he  started  editing  Othello;  each  day  devoted  to  the 
solitary  task  increased  the  poignant  sense  of  lone- 
liness to  which  the  Dedication  of  this,  and  of  each 
subsequent  volume  during  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
bears  silent  witness. 

Othello  was  published  in  1886,  followed  by  The 
Merchant  of  Venice  (1888),  As  You  Like  It  (1890), 
The  Tempest  (1892),  and  the  letters  in  this  chapter 
cover  the  eight  years  occupied  in  editing  these 
four  plays.  It  should  be  here  noted  that  with 
Othello  the  plan  of  the  Variorum  was  modified: 
whereas  in  the  four  earlier  volumes  Furness 
printed  as  "text"  a  version  of  each  play  which  he 
himself  compiled  from  the   readings   adopted  by 


THE  VARIORUM  OTHELLO         223 

a  majority  of  the  ablest  editors,  with  Othello  he 
abandoned  this  modernized  version,  using  instead 
an  exact  reproduction  of  the  First  Folio,  and  re- 
cording in  the  notes  the  various  emendations 
found  in  other  critical  editions.  "Who  am  I  that 
I  should  thrust  myself  in  between  the  student  and 
the  text,  as  though  in  me  resided  the  power  to 
restore  Shakespeare's  own  words?  Even  if  a  rem- 
edy be  proposed  which  is  by  all  acknowledged  to 
be  efficacious,  it  is  not  enough  for  the  student 
that  he  should  know  the  remedy;  he  must  see  the 
ailment.  Let  the  ailment,  therefore,  appear  in  the 
text,  and  let  the  remedies  be  exhibited  in  the  notes; 
by  this  means  we  may  make  a  text  for  ourselves, 
and  thus  made,  it  will  become  a  part  of  ourselves, 
and  speak  to  us  with  more  power  than  were  it 
made  by  the  wisest  educator  of  them  all  —  it  may 
be  *an  ill-favoured  thing,  sir,'  but  —  it  will  be 
*our  own.' "  ^ 

During  these  eight  years  Furness's  life  flowed 
quietly  on;  little  occurred  to  divert  the  course  of 
his  work  through  the  winters  spent  at  his  house  on 
Washington  Square,  or  through  the  long  peaceful 
summers  at  "Lindenshade."  With  his  close  friends 
and  associates  he  still  kept  in  touch  through  his 
correspondence,  and  these  serve  as  a  sufficient 
record  of  outward  events,  with  here  and  there 
a  note  appended  to  explain  some  unmentioned 
incident. 

*  Preface  to  Othello,  page  vL 


224       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

To  Francis  J.  Child 

Wallingford,  lo  July,  1884 
Alderliefest  Master  mine:  I  have  just  finished 
cutting  the  leaves  (delightful  task)  of  Part  Second.* 

My  sincerest  congratulations  to  you! 

This  fresh  instalment  confirms  me  in  the  belief, 
which  I  think  I  have  already  expressed  to  you, 
that  the  final  cause  of  these  Ballads  is  the  oppor- 
tunities they  afford  you  for  Introductory  Re- 
marks. After  listening  to  you  the  Ballads  them- 
selves fall  flat.  And  what  research!  what  careful- 
ness of  minutest  details!  what  exactitude!  how 
scholarly  throughout!  and  what  a  revelation  you 
unfold  through  them  of  the  brotherhood  of  man- 
kind—  "Hoops  of  Gold"  you  show  them  to  be 
"to  bind  the"  nations  "in."  The  Juventus 
Mundi  was  evidently  one  big  nursery. 

This  book  and  Shakespeare  go  with  me  next 
week  to  Cape  May  —  Think  of  me  then  as  revel- 
ling in  it. 

You  once  wished  for  me  a  little  daughter  —  I 
have  one  just  eleven  years  old  —  I  am  half  in- 
clined to  enclose  a  photograph  of  her  and  her 
greyhound  "Bran."  She  is  a  dear  little  thing,  and 
clings  to  me  with  a  sort  of  frantic  devotion.  Of 
her  growing  years  I  can  scarcely  think  but  with 
despair.  What  can  a  father  do  for  a  daughter  over 
a  chasm  of  forty  years'  difference  of  ages.  My 
only  solace  is  that  time  and  the  hour  run  through 

'  Of  English  and  Scottish  Popular  Ballads^  edited  by  Professor 
Child. 


Q 
< 

n 

CO 

is 

W 
Q 


TO  FRANCIS  J.  CHILD  225 

the  roughest  day.  "There  is  no  name  with  what- 
ever emphasis  of  passionate  love  repeated  of  which 
the  echo  does  not  become  faint  at  last."  Thank 
God,  that  we  are  all  coming  to  that.  Write  a  line 
to  me  when  the  spirit  prompts  —  your  shortest 
syllable  is  precious  to  me. 

Yours  affectionately 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Francis  J.  Child 

Wallingford,  14  September,  1884 

Dearest  Master  mine:  When  I  get  your  letters 
I  seem  to  myself  to  be  the  most  arrant  knave.  I 
send  you  dross  and  you  return  me  gold.  I  send  you 
humdrum  twaddle  and  you  return  me  sparkling 
fun  —  Hereafter  I  cannot  consent  to  an  arrange- 
ment so  onesided.  Either  you  must  not  answer  my 
letters  at  all,  or  they  must  accumulate  until  quan- 
tity will  outweigh  quality  and  sheer  bulk  will  de- 
serve a  simple  "thank  ye." 

It  smote  me  to  the  heart  that  you  should  be  so 
fagged  out,  so  workworn  —  the  labour  we  delight 
in  will  not  always  physic  pain  —  and  must  even 
forgo  the  dinner  with  your  Irish  Marys.  (How  I 
laughed  over  your  "queebie,  quaabie"  —  I  don't 
think  I  ever  saw  it  written  before.)  I  thought  of 
you  so  often  during  these  last  hot  days  —  I  hope 
the  sun  didn't  smite  you  by  day,  as  it  did  us. 
Doubtless  you  were  in  Stockbridge,  a  place  very 
dear  to  me  —  Years  ago  when  the  skies  were  blue 
above  us,  we  drove  over  from  Lenox  one  heavenly 


226       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

October  day,  and  though  we  didn't  know  a  soul 
in  the  little  basking  town,  Kate  and  I  wandered 
around  and  fell  in  love  with  every  house  we  saw. 

Next  week  I  shall  take  my  boys  to  Cambridge. 
I  failed  to  draw  rooms  for  them  in  the  College 
Buildings  and  have  secured  some  at  a  Mrs. 
Mooney's  (also  suggestive  of  "queebie!").  I  shall 
be  busy  furnishing  them,  etc.,  etc.,  and  may 
scarcely  have  time  to  see  you  —  which  to  you  can 
be  no  loss.  I  have  grown  so  deaf  as  to  be  intoler- 
able. But  I  shall  send  my  sister  Mrs.  Wister  to 
you,  with  perhaps  Polly  and  her  Governess,  Miss 
Logan.  My  sister  is  a  most  charming  woman  and 
has  an  endless  admiration  for  you.  The  back- 
ground is  my  position  for  the  rest  of  my  days.  I 
am  not  always  a  good  actor  and  I  might  break 
down  with  you. 

Please  don't  answer  this  —  I  shall  reproach  my- 
self for  writing  it  if  you  do. 

Tou jours  a  toi 

H.  H.  F. 

To  H.  H.  Furness,  Jr.,  and  W.  H.  Furness,  ^rd 

222  West  Washington  Square 

4th  Jan.  1885 

Our  darling  boys:  I  don't  know  how  I  can  wait 
until  next  Tuesday  before  hearing  from  you.  .  .  . 
Edmund  Gosse,  Professor  of  English  Literature 
in  Trin.  Coll.  Cambridge,  dined  here  last  even'g.  I 
asked  Agnes  Irwin  to  meet  him.  We  had  a  quiet 
dinner  whereat  Agnes  &  Miss  Logan  &  Gosse  did 


TENNYSON'S  JOKE  BOOK  227 

all  the  talking.  My  share  was  not  unnaturally 
small.  However,  afterwards  in  the  library  I  had  a 
very  pleasant  gossip  with  Gosse  &  experienced 
much  difficulty  in  refraining  from  interlarding  my 
discourse  with,  now  &  then,  a  "By  Gosh."  He  told 
me  a  good  thing  —  that  Tennyson  had  once  con- 
fided to  him  that  he  had  intended  to  make  his  life- 
work  the  collection  of  100  of  the  very  best,  brightest, 
wittiest  sayings,  retorts,  conundrums,  etc.,  etc., 
but  that  so  far  he  had  got  only  three!  and  two  oi 
them,  Gosse  added,  were  improper  to  tell  to  ladies  I 
Of  course  we  clamoured  for  what  Agnes  styled  the 
expurgated  edition  of  one  joke  and  Gosse  gave  it  as 
Tennyson  gave  it  to  him  —  viz:  when  William  IV 
was  once  riding  to  Brighton  he  met  —  (I  cannot 
recall  the  name  Gosse  gave)  —  &  hailed  him  with 
"I  say  —  they  tell  me  you're  the  greatest  black- 
guard in  Brighton!"  "I  beg  your  Majesty,"  was 
the  reply,  "not  to  go  there  and  take  away  my 
character."  Which  I  do  really  think  is  one  of  the 
neatest  things  ever  said. 

To  H.  H.  F.  Jr.  and  W.  H.  F.  3rd 

222  West  Washington  Squart 

IS  Feb'y,  1885 

.  .  .  We  have  had  stirrings  in  the  theatrical  and 

necromantic  world.    Irving  and   his   troupe,   and 

Kellar  and  his  slate-writing.   I  saw  the  former  in 

the  Mer.  of  Ven.  and  was  greatly  pleased.    I  went 

late  and  saw  the  last  three  acts  only.    Of  course, 

as  I  couldn't  hear  a  syllable,  it  was  merely  a  dumb 


228       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

show,  but  I  especially  admired  Shylock's  bearing 
in  the  Trial  scene;  up  to  the  critical  moment  there 
was  such  a  calm  sense  of  power  in  Shylock's  bear- 
ing; not  only  did  he  have  Antonio  in  his  power,  but 
he  felt  the  whole  power  of  the  Venetian  Law  at  his 
back;  he  did  not  need  to  rant,  or  to  show  the  least 
vehemence;  his  calmness  was  far  more  terrible  and 
bloodthirsty  than  any  emotion.  And  Portia  was 
too  lovely,  her  by-play  is  fascinating  —  and  Alex- 
ander (Bassanio)  is  just  as  handsome  as  they  make 
'em.  With  the  latter  and  his  pretty  little  wife  we 
grew  very  well  acquainted;  they  are  Cheston's 
friends  and  on  his  account  I  called  on  them.  They 
have  left  this  noon  for  Boston,  &  stopped  here  on 
their  way  to  the  cars  just  to  bid  us  good-bye.  If 
they  had  stayed  here  another  week,  I  think  they 
would  have  grown  as  much  at  home  here  as  you 
children.  They  begged  me  again  and  again  to  tell 
you  two  boys  to  come  &  see  them  next  week  at  the 
Tremont  House.  I  told  them  you  would  come  on 
Saturday,  which  is  your  only  day  for  visiting 
Boston,  &  they  in  turn  said  that  if  they  went  out  to 
Cambridge  they  would  try  &  look  you  up. 

On  Miss  Terry  I  called  at  the  Aldine.  She  kept 
me  waiting  an  abominably  long  time,  and  I  had 
just  resolved  to  shake  the  dust  from  my  feet,  when 
she  came  tripping  gaily  into  the  room  strumming 
a  banjo.  You  should  have  seen  her  look  of  hor- 
ror and  embarrassment  at  the  sight  of  me!  She 
stammered  out,  "Why  —  I  thought  —  it  —  was 
—  Horrie  —  your  —  son!"    She  had  intended  to 


DONNELLY'S  BACONIAN  THEORY    229 

show  you  that  she  too  could  strum  on  the  banjo.  I 
had  a  very  pleasant  chat  with  her;  if  you  see  her, 
give  her  my  very  kindest  regards,  but  don't  allude 
to  her  keeping  me  so  long  waiting.  .  .  . 

My  visit  to  Boston  is,  I  am  afraid,  postponed 
until  the  last  week  in  April.  On  the  23  rd  the  Shake- 
speare Soc.  here  is  very  anxious  that  I  should  be 
present  at  their  annual  dinner.  I  have  omitted  it 
four  or  five  years,  and  they  have  been  so  devoted 
in  their  kindness  to  me  that  I  think  I  must  be 
present  now.  In  that  case  I  can't  leave  here  until 
Friday  the  24th. 

Donnelly's  theory  about  Bacon's  authorship  is 
too  foolish  to  be  seriously  answered.  I  don't  think 
he  started  it  for  any  other  purpose  than  notoriety. 
I  believe  he  doesn't  attempt  to  show  that  Bacon 
corrected  the  proof-sheets  of  the  First  Folio,  and 
no  human  foresight  could  have  told  how  the 
printed  line  would  run,  and  have  so  regulated  the 
MSS.  To  Donnelly's  theory  the  pagination  &  the 
number  of  lines  in  a  page  are  essential.  ... 

To  S.  Weir  Mitchell 

Wallingford,  31  August,  1885 
Dear  Mitchell:  Won't  you  do  me  a  favour.'*  and 
eke  one  at  the  same  time  to  science  and  literature,'* 
I  want  to  gather  the  opinions  of  three  or  four 
eminent  physicians  as  to  the  correctness  of  Shake- 
speare's representation  of  Desdemona's  death.  You 
know  that  the  manner  of  it  has  been  considered 
wildly  improbable  if  not  impossible.    I  believe  in 


230       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

my  secret  soul  that  Shakespeare  had  heard  or  read 
of  a  case  exactly  similar  —  and  I  have  gone  through 
the  great  textbook  of  his  day,  "Batman  Uppon 
Bartholome,"  pretty  thoroughly,  but  without  suc- 
cess. The  present  idea  has  occurred  to  me.  Your 
opinion  with  that  of  three  or  four  others  cannot 
but  prove,  not  only  very  interesting,  but  highly 
valuable.  They  shall  appear  in  a  group  by  them- 
selves, on  this  subject,  in  the  "Othello"  which  is 
now  rapidly  approaching  completion. 

Herewith  are  the  pages  containing  the  last  scene, 
and  you  can  slip  them  into  your  pocket  for  cogi- 
tation in  some  idle  moment  in  the  cars.  I  have 
marked  all  the  passages  which  to  my  ignorant  eyes 
seem  to  bear  on  the  following  questions: 

Do  you  think  it  likely  that  0th.  stabs  Desd.  at 
the  words  "So,  so".? 

If  he  stabbed  her,  could  her  smock  be  pa.h? 
If  she  were  smothered,  could  she  be  pale.'* 
In  either  case,  could  she  speak  after  apparent 
death  f 

If  she  could  speak,  why  could  she  not  quite  revive  f 
What  then  was  really  the  cause  of  her  death.'' 
Am  I  asking  too  much.''  If  I  am,  thrust  this  into 
your  waste-basket  and  write  to  me  that  you  never 
received  my  impertinent  note.^  "And  I  will  still 
be  the  same  as  this  moment  I  am,"  viz: 
Faithfully  and  sincerely  yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

*  In  his  edition  of  Othello,  H.  H.  F.,  after  reviewing  the  historical 
commentary  on  this  passage,  says: 

"Thus  far  Editors  and  Actors,  with  a  ground-tone  from  the  public 


THE  VARIORUM  OTHELLO         231 
To  Edzvin  Booth 

Wallingford,  3  Sept.  '85 
Dear  Booth:    'Tis  likely  that  I  shall  finish  my 
second   version   of   "Othello"   this   week.     After 
which  there  will  be  a  third  and  the  Compilation  of 
the  Appendix.   And  there  an  end. 

Enclosed  are  two  or  three  questions  for  your 
idle  moments.^ 

I  shall  probably  have  some  more  before  next 
Saturday.  I  have  gone  through  only  the  first  three 
Acts  with  your  notes.  The  question  anent  the  first 

at  large  to  the  effect  that  there  does  seem  to  be  something  not  alto- 
gether true  to  physiology  in  the  subsequent  revival  of  Desdemona; 
yet,  such  is  the  Anglosaxon  faith  in  Shakespeare,  that,  in  any  variance 
between  him  and  Nature.  Shakespeare  is  considered  quite  able  to  hold 
his  own.  It  was  the  phrase,  'Pale  as  thy  smock,'  which  first  caught 
my  attention.  ...  To  my  layman's  small  knowledge  there  seemed 
here  a  violation  of  physiological  law  so  downright,  in  representing  a 
smothered  person  as  pale,  that  I  knew  Shakespeare,  who  could  note 
the  'crimson  drops  i'  the  bottom  of  a  cowslip,'  never  could  have  com- 
mitted it.  The  reality  before  our  very  eyes  cannot  be  as  vivid  as  the 
coinage  of  his  brain  was  to  Shakespeare.  .  .  . 

"  For  Shakespeare's  credit  I  felt  no  concern,  but  I  did  feel  mortified 
for  Nature  on  whose  behalf  it  seemed  that  if  ever  our  best  medical  wis- 
dom were  to  be  unmuzzled,  this  was  the  hour.  To  this  trial,  in  which 
Nature  is  the  defendant  (not  Shakespeare,  perish  the  thought!)  I  hoped 
to  summon  such  an  array  of  experts  that  their  verdict  would  be  ac- 
cepted as  final  wherever  the  masters  of  medicine  are  known  and  hon- 
oured, or  any  faith  exists  in  diagnosis.  .  .  ." 

The  interesting,  although  somewhat  dissentient,  replies  which  he  "' 
received  from  the  seven  prominent  medical  authorities  whom  he 
called  in  to  consultation  upon  this  passage  may  be  found  on  pages 
304-307  of  the  yarioTum  edition.  This  incident  is  characteristic  of  the 
exhaustive  scrutiny  and  painstaking  research  which  H.  H.  F.  brought 
to  bear  on  every  knotty  point. 

'  Edwin  Booth,  for  the  Variorum  Othello  and  The  Merchant  of 
Venice,  supplied  notes  explaining  both  the  traditional  and  his  per- 
sonal way  of  rendering  the  lines  and  executing  the  "business"  on 
the  stage. 


232       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

line  of  Act  V  Is  born  out  of  due  course.  Grant 
White's  note  occurs  in  his  2nd  edition,  and  it's 
worth  your  looking  at.  Not  for  its  value,  but  as  a 
curiosity. 

Don't  desert  Shylock. 

Yours  ever 

H.  H.  F. 

You  say:  "Do  not  stoop  to  the  old  stage  trick  of 
displaying  Des.  kerchief  as  if  by  accident  while 
Othello's  back  is  turned."  Now  turn  to  Gould's 
book  and  you  will  find  that  your  father  did  some- 
thing so  similar  that  if  I  quote  both  you  and  Gould, 
you  will  immediately  seem  to  condemn  your  father. 
Why  not  be  more  explicit  and  say,  "My  Father  was 
wont  to  assure  himself  of  the  certainty  of  plot  by 
pressing  his  hand  on  the  spot  where  Des.  kerchief 
was  concealed  (or  by  furtively  looking  at  it,  or 
whatever  was  his  exact  business),  which  is  good  if 
well  done,  but  do  not  descend  to  the  old  stage  trick 
of  displaying  this  kerchief  with  a  triumphant  leer," 
&c.  You  can  fix  it  up  beautiful. 

To  Edwin  Booth 

WalUngford,  6  Sept.  '85 
Dearest  Booth:    I  finished  all  the  commentary 
on  Othello  yesterday.    There  Is  now  nothing  but 
the  preparation  of  the  Appendix,  of  which  all  the 
German  part  is  done. 

Herewith  are  one  or  two  notes  for  your  con- 
sideration. 

In  the  last  scene  of  all,  when  Othello  says,  "The 


OTHELLO  QUESTIONS  233 

noise  was  high,"  you  properly  say  that  this  refers 

to  the  fighting  in  the  street,  but  add,  " says 

it  refers  to  EmiHa's  knocking."  Is  the  name  I  have 
indicated  by  a  dash,  Irving?  It  looks  like  it,  but 
just  at  that  point  your  handwriting  is  not  copper- 
plate &  I  can't  quite  make  it  out  —  at  least  not 
with  the  assurance  that  printing  it,  demands. 

Then,  too,  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  changing 
what  you  call  an  "Ottoman"  into  a  "divan."  As 
the  Cyprus  war  was  a  war  against  the  "Ottoman," 
I  thought  it  might  be  interpreted  that  EmiHa 
throws  herself  upon  the  "corp"  of  a  Turk. 

Then,  too,  your  account  of  the  last  fight  between 
Cassio  and  Roderigo  is  not  quite  clear.  You  say 
that  lago  knocks  up  their  swords  and  wounds 
Cassio  in  the  leg  trusting  to  Roderigo  to  kill  him  & 
then  get  hanged  for  it.  No,  no,  it  wouldn't  suit 
lago's  plans  to  have  Roderigo  survive  him  for  a  trial. 
At  all  hazards  Rod.  must  die  that  night.  If  it  won't 
bother  you  too  much  write  out  that  fight  again. 
Fechter  makes  lago  wound  Cassio  with  a  back- 
handed blow  just  as  he  cuts  into  his  own  house. 
The  wounding  of  Cassio  in  the  leg  might  have  been 
because  lago  overheard  him  say,  "But  that  my 
Coat  is  better  than  thou  know'st,  &c."  But  in  Cin- 
thio's  odd  story  Cassio's  leg  is  almost  clean  cut  ofi" 
—  and  this  might  have  floated  into  Shakespeare's 
memory. 

The  20th  and  Edwina  ^  will  soon  be  here.  Give 
my  love  to  the  dear  child  when  you  see  her.   Polly 

*  Booth's  daughter. 


234       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

has  gone  to  the  Warm  Springs  in  Virginia  with  Miss 
Logan,  &  Walter  is  in  the  Rockies  after  Elk. 

Don't  neglect  Shylock,  or  spit  upon  his  Jewish 
gabardine.  The  minute  I  am  through  with  Othello 
I  shall  begin  on  him. 

The  benison  of  Heaven  on  you ! 

Ever  thine 

H.  H.  F. 

To  5.  Weir  Mitchell 

Wallingford,  30  September,  1885 
My  dear  Mitchell:  I  think  that  just  at  this  mo- 
ment dear  old  Walt  [Whitman]  is  in  no  need.  In 
the  course  of  a  week  or  two  I  shall  be  able  to  tell 
you  more  definitely,  and  then,  be  sure,  you  shall 
not  be  debarred  the  privilege  of  coming  to  his  aid, 
if  required.  Individually  I  feel  a  debt  of  personal 
gratitude  to  Walt  for  the  strength  which  comes  to 
me  from  the  sight  of  his  grand  imperturbable  pau- 
city amidst  the  frightful  hurricanes  of  this  awe-full 
world. 

I  will  thoughtfully  consider  what  you  say  about 
the  death  of  the  "  gentle  lady  married  to  the  Moor." 
I  have  the  opinions  of  Brinton,  DaCosta,  Hunt,  and 
yourself.  I  doubt  whether  to  the  estimation  of  the 
public  any  weight  can  be  added  beyond  these  four 
names.  The  point  is  to  decide  whether  Othello 
stabs.  Temporary  reaction  will  go  far  to  explain 
the  few  words  Desdemona  utters  after  the  stifling. 
But  the  stabbing  is  a  practical  point,  which  must 
guide  the  actor,  and  the  question  cannot  be  dis- 


A  COMPOSITE  PHOTOGRAPH       235 

cussed  apart  from  the  text.    Therefore  I  doubt  if 
we  can  make  out  a  case  stated.  However,  I'll  think 
on't.   In  the  meantime,  as  always 
Yours  faithfully 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Wallingford,  l8  Oct.  1885 
Dear  Wright:  I  fell  to  wondering  the  other  day 
why  I  hadn't  heard  from  you  about  the  Composite 
photographs  of  Shakespeare,  ^  made  by  my  boy, 
and  turned  to  the  list  of  those  to  whom  I  had  sent 
that  same  to  see  the  date  of  its  dispatch,  and  the 
name,  which  of  all  others  I  intended  to  head  the 
list,  was  not  there  at  all.  Can  it  really  be  that  none 
came  to  you.?   Surely,  surely  I  sent  you  a  copy. 

Well,  well,  I  send  you  one  by  this  same  mail,  and 
if  you  have  one  already  you  can  give  this  away. 

This  experiment  of  my  boy  is  simply  curious; 
it  isn't  to  be  seriously  discussed.  The  dear  fellow 
did  it  solely  to  arouse  some  interest  in  me.  I  saw 
through  his  loving  game  and  yielded  to  it,  and  was 
really  interested  before  the  close.  To  me  the  first 
composite,  made  of  all  the  selected  portraits,  has 
a  more  lifelike  look  than  any  single  one  of  the  lot. 
And,  moreover,  there  is  a  touch  of  humour  in  the 
face  that  justifies  the  comedies. 

1  [A  carefully  made  composite  photograph  of  all  the  well-known 
portraits  of  Shakespeare,  namely:  The  Chandos,  the  Droeshout,  the 
Jansen,  the  Stratford,  the  Felton,  the  Stratford  Bust,  Marshall's  copy 
of  the  Droeshout,  the  Ashbourne,  and  the  Death  Mask.  The  work 
was  done  by  my  brother  Walter  Rogers  Furness  and  the  interesting 
result  published  in  a  small  volume  in  June,  1885  —  W.  H.  F.  3rd.] 


236       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

Furnivall  thinks  (more  suo)  nought's  had  all's 
spent  because  my  boy  didn't  combine  the  Strat- 
ford Bust  and  the  Droeshout!  Why,  bless  his  five 
wits,  the  faces  don't  look  In  the  same  direction!  As 
well  demand  the  combination  of  a  full  face  and  a 
profile. 

After  days  and  weeks  of  alternating  work  and  in- 
action, and  all  of  misery,  I  have  finished  "Othello" 
and  sent  it  to  the  printers,  and  the  First  Scene  is 
stereotyped.  I  have  taken  the  First  Folio  as  text 
and  give  as  accurate  a  reprint  as  vigilance  can 
make,  and  in  the  Commentary  I  have  followed  no 
rule  but  the  whim  of  the  passing  moment,  and  am 
now  conscious  that  I  am  horribly  obtrusive,  and 
Impertinent,  and  flippant,  and,  what  I  have  not 
been  hitherto,  censorious  and  ill-natured.  But  I  am 
referring  too  much  to  myself  —  I  know  you'll  for- 
give me,  and  only  remember,  dear  Wright,  that  I 
am  very  faithfully  and  affectionately 
Yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

222  West  Washington  Sq.,  1885 
My  dear  Wright:  The  copy  of  "Twelfth  Night" 
came  safely  to  hand.   Gratias  Maximas  tibi  ago. 

I  don't  think  I  have  ever  half  told  you  how  much, 
how  thoroughly  I  admire  your  Clarendon  Series. 
After  closing  one  of  your  books  I  always  wonder 
what  there  is  left  to  be  done  or  said. 

As  to  the  Death-Mask,  the  chiefest  claim  in  its 


THE  SHAKESPEARE  PORTRAITS    237 

favour  lies  in  the  mere  fact  of  that  claim.  Just 
as  "In  Arabia  there  is  one  tree,"  so  in  England 
there  was  but  one  man  who  died  in  1616  —  all  the 
rest  counted  for  no  more  than  flies.  Argal,  if  this 
Death-Mask  bears  the  mortuary  star  and  1616,  it's 
William  Shakespeare's.  Q.E.D.  If  that  doesn't 
convert  you,  you  are  in  a  parlous  state. 

My  boy  included  that  mask,  as  he  did  other  por- 
traits, not  because  their  claims  were  good,  but  be- 
cause they  were  loud.  Neither  he  nor  I  place  any 
faith  in  any  but  the  Stratford  Bust  and  the  Droes- 
hout  —  and  not  much  in  them.  I  don't  [think]  the 
latter  resembles  anything  in  the  heavens  above  or 
the  earth  beneath  or  the  waters  under  the  earth. 
However,  the  experiment  was  worth  trying,  and 
the  combination  of  all  the  portraits  does  look,  to  me, 
like  something  human  and  as  though  the  original 
might  have  written  a  Comedy. 

You  speak  of  my  getting  to  "work"  —  pray 
don't  dignify  my  hours  with  that  honourable  term. 
The  days  must  be  lived  through  and  I  try  to  spend 
them  in  a  way  least  harmful  to  myself  and  others. 
I  have  flickerings  of  interest  which  live  for  a  min- 
ute. The  adoption  of  the  First  Folio  as  my  text 
has  proved  the  most  abiding.  The  printers  are  in 
the  middle  of  the  Second  Act,  and  two  or  three 
months  should  see  the  whole  completed,  if  I  don't 
commit  it  in  disgust  to  the  flames  before  then. 

Give  my  love  to  Gosse  when  you  think  of  it. 

Yours  as  of  yore 

H.  H.  FURNESS 


238       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 
To  H.  II.  F.  Jr.  and  W.  H.  F.  3rd 

222  West  Washington  Sq. 

14  Feb.  '86 

Darling  boys  of  ours:  Somewhere  In  Sydney 
Smith's  Lectures  on  Moral  Philosophy,  there  is  a 
most  amusing  speculation  on  the  immense  advan- 
tages which  the  long-lived  Biblical  patriarchs  pos- 
sessed over  us  modern  short-lived  creatures  of  a 
day.  In  those  old  days  a  man  could  think  over  a 
book  for  a  hundred  years,  take  a  hundred  years  to 
see  it  through  the  press,  and  live  to  see  its  success 
for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  afterwards.  Now, 
although  such  a  span  is  very,  very  far  from  what 
I  should  desire  either  for  writing  a  book  or  any- 
thing else,  I  should  like  enough  time  to  write  a 
good  long  letter  to  you.  Every  week  the  same  old 
story  is  retold.  I  have  to  scratch  for  my  life,  not 
that  I  should  sit  up  too  late,  but  that  I  shouldn't 
get  to  bed  at  all.  However,  this  time  it  will  be  of 
less  importance  to  you  at  least.  Walter  will  follow 
these  written  words  with  his  living  voice  so  soon 
that  you  won't  mind.  .  .  . 

We  had  Frank  Stockton  at  dinner  yesterday  & 
we  were  all  delighted  with  his  simple,  genial  ways. 
You've  read  his  "Lady  and  the  Tiger,"  haven't 
you.''  Of  course  we  asked  him,  begged  him,  to  tell 
us  which  came  out  of  the  door,  the  Lady  or  the 
Tiger.  He  said,  upon  his  soul,  he  didn't  know,  he 
wished  he  did  —  but  he  thought  it  was  the  tiger. 
I  told  him  it  wasn't  —  that  there  was  a  lady  be- 
hind each  door  —  and  he  said  he  was  so  glad  to 
know  it. 


OTHELLO  READINGS  239 

The  day  before  we  had  Nettie  Hooper  to  dinner 
—  she  is  to  play  Second  Lady  in  Booth's  com- 
pany next  year  —  which  is  a  great  improvement 
I  think  on  her  present  position.  .  .  . 

Yr.  old 

Father 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright  ^ 

Wallingford,  1 8  July,  1886 
Dear  Wright:  I'm  glad  that  "Othello"  reached 
you  safely,  and  the  relations  between  you  and  me 
are  not,  in  diplomatic  phrase,  strained  on  account 
of  my  bumptiousness  and  flippancy.  Down  in  my 
inmost  heart  I  think  my  best  note  is  my  parody 
of  Dr.  Johnson's  style  in  "What  thought  had  I  of 
her  stol'n  hours  or  lust,"  somewhere  towards  the 
close  of  the  third  Act.^  I  had  utterly  forgotten  that 
I  had  written  it,  and  when  I  read  it  in  proof,  I 
laughed  outright.  It  is  good,  though  I  say  it  that 
shouldn't. 

As  for  Judean  or  Indian  —  I  still  stand  to  my 
guns. 2  Any  allusion  at  such  a  time,  it  seems  to 
me,  should  be  one  more  manifest  to  every  auditor 

^  The  note  referred  to  reads,  in  part:  "Dr.  Johnson  .  .  .  ,  while 
using  Theobald's  text  to  print  from,  sneered  at  him  in  his  Preface,  and 
raised  a  laugh  against  him  by  saying:  'I  have  sometimes  adopted  his 
restoration  of  a  comma,  without  inserting  the  panegyric  in  which  he 
celebrated  himself  for  this  achievement.'  Sir,  he  who  accepts  a  text 
to  print  from  on  the  one  hand,  and  vilifies  his  benefactor  on  the  other, 
is,  on  this  occasion,  removed  aliice  either  from  the  claims  of  considera- 
tion or  the  requirements  of  respect." 

'  "  Then  must  you  speak  ...  of  one  whose  hand 
(Like  the  base  Judean)  threw  a  pearl  away 
Richer  than  all  his  tribe." 

Othello,  V.  ii. 


240       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

than  one  of  some  far-away  chance  Indian.  Think 
over  the  Judas  interpretation  once  more.  Surely 
Othello's  vehemence  seeks  for  the  wildest  similes, 
and  in  his  agony  the  one  great  black  crime  of  all 
the  ages  is  the  only  fair  parallel  to  his  own.  How- 
ever, my  work  on  the  tragedy  is  done  and  finished 
and  I  want  never  to  hear  of  it  again. 

Sometime  or  other  if  you  can,  consistently  with 
all  delicacy,  I  wish  you'd  let  me  know  which  of 
the  plays  were  collated  by  Mr.  Clark  &  which  by 
you.  I  found  the  collation  uneven  in  excellence.  If, 
for  this  second  edition,  you  repeat  the  collation 
throughout,  I  imagine  that  you  will  be  not  a  little 
surprised  at  the  number  of  corrections  you  will  be 
called  upon  to  make.  Some  years  ago  I  collated 
Ant.  y  Cleop.  and  I  remember  that  the  fourth 
Folio  was  almost  wholly  ignored.  And  I  have  just 
finished  the  Mer.  of  Venice,  &  I  cannot  think  that 
for  the  Cambridge  Edition  the  same  hand  collated 
it  and  Othello.  I  think,  without  exception,  where 
Capell's  Errata  are  stated  in  the  Cam.  Ed.  as 
"corrected  in  MS."  they  will  be  found  corrected  in 
his  printed  "Notes." 

You  see,  dear  Wright,  on  what  small  matters  my 
life  now  hinges.  I  am  weary  and  tired  of  every- 
thing beyond  words. 

The  papers  tell  me  that  you  have  again  elected 
Gosse  as  your  lecturer.  Congratulate  the  dear  boy 
from  me,  when  you  see  him  and  think  of  it. 

Meantime  and  always,  I  am 

Yours  affectionately 

Horace  Howard  Furness 


TABLE  TALK  241 

To  H.  H.  F.  Jr. 

222  West  Washington  Square 

4  November,  '86 

Dearest  Horrie:  "'Twixt  the  gloaming  and  the 
mirk"  I've  time  just  to  write  you  a  Hne. 

Have  you  had  a  chance  to  dip  into  Coleridge's 
Table  Talk?  It's  a  most  suggestive  book.  I  don't 
think  you  can  open  a  page  without  Hghting  on 
something  which  sets  you  thinking.  In  his  scold- 
ings at  the  Unitarians  and  in  his  encomiums  on  the 
Trinitarians,  I  think  you  must  always  bear  in  mind 
that  he  was  a  convert  &  like  all  converts  bitter 
against  his  former  faith,  perhaps  from  knowing 
how  dear  it  once  was  to  him  &  how  easily  in  an  un- 
guarded moment  he  might  fall  back  into  Its  arms. 

There's  another  book  of  "Table  Talk,"  Rogers's, 
of  a  totally  opposite  character,  but  which  I  always 
read  with  pleasure.  It  Is  downright  gossip  pure  and 
simple,  but  very  entertaining.  Rogers's  great  age 
makes  all  his  reminiscences  of  old  London  interest- 
ing. Don't  you  remember  Conduit  St.^  It  led  off 
from  Old  Bond  St.  towards  Regent  St.  Well, 
Gen.  Oglethorpe  told  Rogers  that  he  had  shot 
snipe  in  the  fields  where  Conduit  St  now  runs.  It's 
well  for  you  to  remember  that  perhaps  the  best 
account  of  Porson  is  to  be  found  added  at  the  end 
of  Rogers's  Table  Talk. 

The  mirk  has  come  down  &  I  can  see  no  longer. 
Always,  dear  old  boy 

Your  devoted 

Father 


242       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 
To  H,  H.  F.  Jr. 

222  fFest  Washington  Square 

17  Nov.,  '86 

Dearest  Horrie:  Whether  or  not  Jane  Eyre  was 
personally  handsome,  the  novel  Is  intensely  inter- 
esting —  so  much  is  certain.  Therefore  one  great 
element  in  a  story  is  gained. 

Now  it's  perfectly  clear  that  the  authoress,  as 
she  was  human,  could  not  have  been  herself  in- 
sensible to  the  charm  of  personal  beauty.  Why, 
then,  did  she  choose  to  make  her  heroine  ugly.^*  To 
answer  this  you've  got  to  bear  in  mind  the  time  & 
the  disposition  of  the  time,  when  the  story  was 
written. 

Since  the  days  of  Armida  and  Dulcinea  del 
Toboso  heroines  had  been  surpassingly  fair;  their 
hair  was  raven-black,  their  eyes  lustrous,  their 
necks  swan-like,  &  their  forms  like  a  gazelle. 
Beauty  was  all  in  all;  with  that  a  girl  was  a  hero- 
ine, let  her  be  as  namby-pamby  as  you  please.  The 
case  was  equally  true  with  regard  to  heroes,  with 
the  modification  that  if  not  handsome  they  must 
be  manly  &  stalwart  of  form,  of  virile  bulk  and 
thews  &  sinews. 

Into  this  world  of  sawdust  dolls  with  simpering 
faces  Charlotte  Bronte  dashed  a  brilliant  head- 
strong girl,  plain  as  a  pikestaff,  but  with  every  in- 
tellectual quality  that  can  fascinate  a  man  —  and 
after  making  her  marry  a  crippled,  scarred,  burnt, 
blind  man  set  the  world  screaming  itself  hoarse 
with  applause.    It  is  an  epoch-making  book,  my 


JANE  EYRE  243 

boy.  The  world  of  novels  has  never  seen  such  a  re- 
vulsion: and  its  effects  have  lasted  to  this  hour. 
Let  any  writer  attempt  to  give  us  another  Laura 
Matilda  of  the  ante  Jane  Eyre  type  &  vous  markez 
mes  mots  there'd  be  a  tee-hee.  No,  no,  dear  boy, 
read  Jane  Eyre  historically,  note  the  artistic  design 
of  the  authoress,  &  then  you'll  see  clear  enough 
why  she  made  her  heroine  ugly.  Had  Jane  Eyre 
been  pretty  you'd  never  have  read  the  story  —  it 
wouldn't  have  survived  a  month. 
Dearest  love  to  Will  — 

Your  old  most  loving 

Father 

To  H.  H.  F.  Jr.  and  W.  H.  F.  3rd 

222  West  Washington  Square 

23  January,  1887 

Dear,  dear  boys  of  ours:  It's  sorry  indeed  I  am 
to  learn  of  your  disappointment  over  my  failure  to 
reach  Boston.  But  it  was  so  bitter  cold,  colder 
than  I  have  ever  felt  it  in  my  life,  and  the  night 
journey  through  Massachusetts  seemed  so  formid- 
able that  I  just  shirked  it,  and,  as  in  all  hours  of 
temptation,  found  the  arguments  for  yielding  too 
cogent.  And  so,  I  just  snoodled  down  to  the  Phila. 
train  with  Clarke  Davis  &  resolved  I'd  try  Boston 
on  some  warmer  day. 

"The  Taming  of  a  Shrew"  is  more  gorgeous  than 
I  have  believed  it  possible  for  the  stage  to  pro- 
duce. Daly  was  all  cordiality  and  Mrs.  Daly,  with 
whom  in  her  private  box  we  sat,  was  all  smiles  & 


244       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

courtesy.  Of  course,  a  deaf  man's  criticisms  are 
worthless  &  I  therefore  freely  remark  that  I  think 
John  Drew  scarcely  perhaps  rises  to  the  level  of 
Shakespeairean  Petruchio,  in  that  he  seemed  at 
times  a  little  too  rough  with  Katherlne.  Any  rough 
man  can  subdue  any  rough  woman  by  sheer  brutal- 
ity, but  Petruchio,  I  think,  subdues  Katherine  by 
being  rough  to  everybody  but  her.  His  terrible 
rages  are  all  for  her  sake  —  every  explosion  is 
proof  of  his  idolatry  of  her  —  Nothing  is  good 
enough  for  her,  no  clothes  however  splendid,  no 
food  however  choice.  And  in  his  rages  he  holds  the 
mirror  up  to  her  of  her  own.  Such  I  think  is  the 
key  to  the  character  &  John  Drew  fell  a  little  short 
of  it.  My!  but  the  smacks  which  Katherine  dealt 
upon  his  face  were  sharp  &  resounding  &  made  his 
cheeks  glow  red  through  the  rouge.  And  how  the 
theatre  applauded  and  shouted  at  them!  .  .  . 
Good-night,  darlings,  Heaven  guard  you  both! 

Your  doting  old 

Father 

To  H.  H.  F.  Jr. 

JVallingford,  14  Nov.  1887 
Dearest  HoRRiE :  Your    yesterday's    letter    has 
reached  me  with  unusual  dispatch  —  and  I'll  hurry 
off  a  line  to  you  before  I  go  to  bed. 

For  the  subject  of  your  Forensic  ^  I  can  give  you 
very  little  help.   You  ask  me  if  I  think  it  is  an  in- 

'  The  subject  chosen  was:  "Is  Collaboration  beneficial  in  Dra- 
matic Composition." 


BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER       245 

teresting  one.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  must  confess 
I  do  not. 

It  will  require  a  vast  deal  of  reading  and  when 
all  is  accomplished  —  what  does  it  amount  to.'' 

Beaumont  is  to  me  an  unutterably  stupid  dram- 
atist. And  to  read  through  his  endless  plays  is  a 
penance  of  the  worst  kind.  You'd  never  read  him 
in  your  after  life  —  at  least  I  hope  not.  All  that  is 
worth  reading  either  of  him  or  of  Fletcher  is  given 
in  Lamb's  Dramatic  Poets  —  and  a  generous  al- 
lowance too. 

You  can  separate  his  work  from  Fletcher's  only 
by  the  closest  analysis  of  style  and  metre  —  and 
even  then  your  grounds  are  shifting  and  uncertain 

—  and  someone  else  can  say  "'tisn't"  after  you've 
said  "'tis."  You  have  got  to  assume  (which  I 
think  is  a  folly)  that  a  man  always  writes  exactly 
the  same  —  and  that  no  one  has  ever  imitated 
him  —  not  even  his  fellow  labourer  who  works  in 
the  composition  of  the  same  drama  with  him.  To 
me  such  questions,  with  their  long  laborious  so- 
lutions of  tables  and  lists,  are  waste  time.  Very 
little  thought  is  required,  it's  mainly  a  ponderous 
mechanical  labour.  You've  got  to  lay  down  certain 
rules,  &  they're  simple  enough  for  a  child  to  devise, 
and  then  go  through  the  plays  and  tabulate.  Ugh! 
You  must  count  up  how  many  feminine  endings 
there  are  in  each  play,  and  how  many  lines  run  on 

—  and  when  your  long  heavy  work  is  done,  you've 
done  no  good  to  God  or  man  —  and  anyone  with  a 
different  crotchet  in  his  head  will  upset  and  deny 


246       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

your  every  conclusion.  No  man  on  earth  has  done 
more  of  that  kind  of  work  than  Fleay,  and  there's 
no  second  man  on  earth  that  accepts  his  conclu- 
sions —  and  when  he  comes  to  apply  them  to 
Shakespeare's  plays,  he  scarcely  accepts  them 
himself  in  different  editions  of  his  own  work. 

Tomorrow  when  I  go  to  town  I'll  look  up  the 
little  my  library  has  on  the  subject  &  send  the 
books  on  to  you  by  express. 

But  my  counsel  is  that  if  you  can  change  your 
subject,  do  so.  If  you  can't  you  must  grin  and  bear 
it  —  but  I  should  begrudge  every  minute  I  had  to 
devote  to  it. 


Good-night. 


Your  doting  old 

Father 


To  H.  E,  F.  Jr 


222  West  Washington  Square 

29  Jan'y,  1888 

Dearest  Horrie:  .  .  .  What  you  say  about  Wag- 
ner interests  me  extremely.  My  chiefest  advice  to 
you  is  to  remember  that  the  law  of  your  being  is 
growth,  and  that  in  passing  judgement  it  is  always 
best  to  qualify  that  judgement  to  meet  the  changes 
of  that  growth. 

The  Wagner  craze  that  you  have  now  I  had,  & 
had  it  quite  as  badly  too,  thirty-five  years  ago. 
At  that  time  we  had  only  Tannhauser  —  He  wrote 
Lohengrin  in  '56,  I  think,  and  I  know  very  little 
of  his  music  since  that  date,  but  I  can  see  now  that 


WAGNER  AND  HIS  MUSIC         247 

he  has  great  faults,  chiefest  in  the  matter  of  time, 
the  capabilities  whereof  in  Opera,  he  seemed  to 
neglect  —  and  he  lacks  versatility.  But  there's  no 
question  about  it  —  he  can  stir  the  blood. 

M7  first  revulsion  for  Wagner  came  when  I 
learned  his  personal  characteristics.  No  proper 
criterion,  I'll  allow,  in  judging  of  his  music.  But 
after  all,  a  man  writes  his  character  in  his  music. 
If,  as  Buffon  said,  "Le  style  est  I'homme,"  very 
much  more,  "La  musique  est  I'homme."  Wagner's 
life  was  gnarled  and  twisted;  he  dealt  in  problems 
too  deep  for  him  or  for  any  one  man;  his  intellec- 
tual arrogance  was  illimitable,  and  if  any  questioned 
his  supremacy  he  fought,  and  bit,  and  swore.  He 
received  endless  kindness  from  the  Emperor  of 
Austria  and  in  return  he  joined  the  mob  in  1848, 
and  with  his  own  hand  set  fire  to  the  Conservatoire 
of  Music  in  Vienna  knowing  that  the  conflagra- 
tion would  burn  up  priceless,  priceless  treasures  of 
music  by  all  the  old  masters,  which  it  did.  It  will 
take  a  good  deal  of  harmony  in  Wagner  to  ob- 
literate the  discord  of  that  black  deed.  But  what  I 
want  you  to  feel,  dear  boy,  is  that  no  one  master,  no 
one  school  will  hold  all  the  truth;  lucky  if  each  of 
them  can  catch  a  wee  bit  of  the  hem  of  her  garment. 
"Many,  for  many  virtues  excellent;  None  but  for 
some  and  yet  each  different"  —  And  we  must  re- 
member that  the  moods  of  men  vary,  even  on  the 
upward  path.  The  earth  in  her  annual  motion  has 
a  diurnal  motion  also.  There  is  a  time  for  all  things. 
Vous  markez  mes  mots,  sometime  or  other,  in  some 


248       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

mood  or  other,  your  demigod  will  be  Bellini.  Be- 
cause an  oak  with  its  summer  bravery  and  its  winter 
poverty  speaks  its  lesson  to  you,  are  you  not  to 
sympathize  with  Autolycus's  pugging  tooth  when 
daffodils  begin  to  peer?  To  me,  the  greatest  Opera 
written  by  mortal  hand  is  Fidelio  —  its  theme  is  the 
loftiest  vouchsafed  to  man  —  but  then  I  take  de- 
light, great  delight,  in  "The  Brewer  of  Preston" 
and  a  hundred  others.  "Talents  differ.  All  is  well 
and  wisely  put.  If  I  can't  carry  forests  on  my  back, 
Neither  can  you  crack  a  nut,"  says  the  Squirrel  to 
the  Mountain  in  Emerson.  And  sometimes  we 
want  to  crack  nuts  —  and  jokes.  Videlicet  Thack- 
eray—  with  his  "Ho,  pretty  page,"  and,  "There 
were  three  sailors  in  Bristol  City." 

Wherefore,  dear  boy,  let  everything  minister  to 
your  growth  that  you  can  assimilate,  and  try  your 
very  hardest  to  assimilate  the  best,  &  highest,  and 
purest  things. 

Good-bye  till  I  see  your  dear  smile. 

Your  doting  old 

Father 

To  W.  H.  F.  3rd 

222  West  Washington  Square 

19  February 

Dearest  Willie:  Your  letters  in  your  compact 
handwriting  are  really  budgets  —  You  always  tell 
me  a  heap  of  news,  and,  as  regularly,  I  feel  as  though 
I  sent  nothing,  in  that  line,  to  you  in  return.  'Tis 
always  hard  to  know  what  is  really  news  worth 


IRVING  AND  STAGE  EFFECT       249 

sending.  One  thing,  however,  I  have  found  out, 
and  that  is,  that  no  incident  whatever,  if  written 
out,  is  trifling  in  the  reading  —  It  seems  dignified, 
and  elevated  into  history,  by  the  mere  transcrip- 
tion. Nathless  the  country  whose  annals  are  dull 
may  be  very  pleasant  to  live  in,  but  it's  a  doosid 
hard  country  to  write  letters  from.  .  .  . 

With  what  you  say  about  Irving  I  fully  agree. 
I  think  he's  doing  harm  to  the  stage  —  Mais,  que 
voulez-vous.'*  Crowds  follow  him  and  money  piles 
itself  around  him,  and  he  has  a  right  to  think  him- 
self justified.  All  this  stage  effect  and  stage  ma- 
chining belong  to  pantomime  —  where  speech  is 
forbidden  —  but  where  the  actors  speak,  the  less 
we  have  of  mere  stage  effect  the  better.  Had  Shake- 
speare known  that  Dover  Cliff  was  to  be  painted 
on  the  scene,  he  never  would  have  written  that  im- 
mortal description  that  almost  makes  us  dizzy  to 
read.  The  scene  painter  and  the'  poet  are  in 
opposite  scales;  if  one  goes  up  the  other  goes 
down.  .  .  . 

The  printers  will  be  on  the  Fifth  Act  of  Mer.  of 
Ven.  tomorrow  —  and  they  drive  me  hard  and  fast 
—  which  is  not  perhaps  what  I  like  but  what  I 
need. . . . 

To  George  Putnam 

222  West  Washington  Square,  1888 

Dearest  George:  You  cannot  exaggerate  the 
pleasure  which  your  letter  gave  me;  in  it  I  saw  the 
very  same  dear  old  boy  of  nigh  forty  years  syne. 


250       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

My  friends  are  always  so  much  dearer  to  me  than 
I  can  possibly  be  to  them,  that  any  proof  of  their 
regard  strikes  home. 

You  speak  of  seeing  notices  only  of  that  Spir- 
itual Report.  I'll  tell  Lippincott  to  send  you  the 
Report  itself:  if  you  already  have  a  copy,  you  can 
pass  this  one  on.  The  Spiritualists  criticize  this 
Report  for  its  lack  of  scientific  method,  but,  bless 
you,  there  is  no  need  of  bringing  such  methods  to 
bear  on  nothing  at  all  —  you  don't  need  to  employ 
scalpel  and  scales  on  froth  —  a  puff  of  laughter  is 
all  that's  needed,  and  it  is  at  my  laughter  that 
Spiritualists  gnash  their  teeth.  My!  what  letters 
I've  had. 

And  I  so  hoped  that  Spiritualism  was  true!  I 
entered  in  the  investigation  almost  a  convert,  and 
at  this  hour  I  would  give  almost  all  I  possess  to  be 
one.  But  not  a  sound  or  a  vibration  or  a  thrill 
comes  from  beyond  the  grave;  there  is  no  crevice 
in  that  wall.  To  my  infinite  regret  I  have  become 
convinced  that  all  the  manifestations  of  Spiritu- 
alism, however  mysterious  they  may  be,  find  their 
cause  in  the  unknown  capacities  of  the  mind,  and 
that  they  are  all  diesseits  and  not  jenseits.  And 
now  I've  lost  all  interest  in  the  subject;  I  can't 
attempt  to  grapple  with  the  problems  of  the  human 
mind  —  I've  got  so  very  little  of  it  myself,  that  it 
isn't  enough  to  argue  from! 

Does  it  make  you  feel  old  to  have  a  boy  engaged  ? 
Why,  George  dear,  I  was  a  grandfather  six  months 
ago.    (But  it  is  not  grandchildren  that  make  you 


FAMILY  NEWS  251 

aged.)  My  boy  and  his  very  pretty  wife  lead  the 
most  idylHc  of  lives.  I  turned  over  to  him  the  care  of 
my  small  farm  of  eighty  acres,  and  on  it  he  and  his 
wife  live,  devoted  to  horses,  dogs,  poultry,  and  flow- 
ers; of  the  last  they  are  passionately  fond  and  work 
all  day  side  by  side,  potting  plants,  making  cut- 
tings and  sowing  seeds  in  their  greenhouses.  My 
two  Seniors  are  dear  lovely  good  boys  as  ever  were 
born,  but  they  don't  study  particularly  hard,  and 
I  don't  know  that  they  will  even  take  a  degree. 
One  is  on  the  Advocate  and  the  other  on  the  Lam- 
poon, and  they  are  both  in  the  Hasty  Pudding, 
and  they  are  both  as  honest  and  as  truthful  as  the 
day,  and  have  never  had  the  first  faint  tinge  of  a 
quarrel  with  each  other,  which,  I  think,  tells  vol- 
umes for  both. 

My  little  girl  is  in  her  fourteenth  year,  almost  as 
tall  as  I  am  —  a  downright  tomboy  in  Summer  — 
she  plays  and  sings  with  the  piano  and  her  banjo  & 
she's  a  great  magician.  I  have  had  her  regularly 
taught  &  by  beginning  thus  early  her  sleight  of 
hand  is  remarkable. 

My  Father  is  as  well  as  can  be.  His  age  deters 
him  from  doing  nothing  that  he  wants  to  do.  Last 
week  was  the  sixty-third  anniversary  of  his  set- 
tlement here.  He  comes  to  see  me  nearly  every  day 
&  smokes  his  cigar  while  we  gossip.  At  times  he 
grows  restless  and  anxious  to  join  my  Mother,  but 
he  represses  it  and  subsides  into  a  tranquil  patience. 
As  I  tell  him  he  can  well  afi^ord  to  be  patient  —  the 
years  ahead  look  very  different  to  one  of  86  and 
one  of  54. 


252       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

There,  dear  George,  I've  gabbled  like  a  tinker  & 
I've  given  you  a  screed  as  unsatisfactory  as  "the 
unedifying  Ninth  of  Nehemiah." 

Give  my  love  to  your  wife,  and  thank  God  on 
your  knees  every  night  that  you  have  her  by  your 
side. 

Yours  always  and  all  ways 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Charles  Eliot  Norton 

Wallingford,  24  May,  1888 

Dear  Norton:  Ever  so  many  thanks  for  this 
highly  interesting  facsimile  of  "The  Skylark." 

It  has  made  me  excessively  vain.  Years  ago  I 
suggested  the  change  "mbodied,"  as  necessary  to 
the  idea  of  ethereal  immortality  which  mortality 
had  assumed.  An  "  embodied  "  joy  is  instantly  cab- 
ined, cribbed,  confined. 

Then,  too,  how  interesting  to  note  the  erasure 
of  "blithe  delight."  As  an  adjective  for  "delight" 
I  think  "blithe"  is  really  better  than  "shrill,'* 
but  evidently  to  Shelley's  sensitive  ear  the  repeti- 
tion of  the  two  long  i's  was  cacophonous:  "blithe 
delight,"  and  so  he  preferred  "shrill." 

Then,  again,  could  anything  be  more  delicate 
than  his  first  expression  "Music  which  is  love^^ 
but  he  had  to  have  a  which  or  a  that  follow  hard 
after,  so  the  first  "which"  was  sacrificed  —  and  I 
am  not  quite  sure  that  I  am  content  that  it  was. 
I'd  have  been  willing  to  accept  "With  music  which 
is  love,  that  overflows  her  bowers."  No,  no  —  I 


DEAFNESS  AND  SILENCE  253 

see;  "that"  would  have  referred  to  "love"  whereas 
it  must  refer  to  "music." 

But  'tis  almost  fairy  time  and  I  must  to  bed. 
Good-night. 

Yours  ever  ' 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Mrs.  Ellen  Olney  Kirk 

Wallingford,  g  July,  1888 
Dear  Mrs.  Kirk:  Although  you  tell  me  not  to 
answer  your  note,  how  can  you  imagine  that  I 
shall  remain  silent  to  such  a  kind  and  tender  mes- 
sage.'' The  written  word  is  all  that  can  ever  now 
reach  me;  for  who  would  think  of  bawling  affection 
through  an  ear-trumpet.'* 

No,  my  increased  deafness  is  due  to  no  tempo- 
rary or  local  cause.  It  is  simply  to  be  expected.  .  .  . 
By  this  time  I  have  learned  to  disregard  it  for  my- 
self; I  now  have  to  learn  to  regard  it  for  my  friends. 
They  must  not  be  made  to  bear  the  affliction  or  the 
infliction. 

However  rugged  the  road,  we  do  somehow  man- 
age to  grow  accustomed  to  the  roughest  joltings. 
What  was  once  my  sorest  misery  has  now  grown  to 
be  a  comfort  to  me.  My  silence  has  ceased  to  be 
observed,  and  I  can  now  unnoticed  retire  into  my 
own  thoughts.  "Into  that  inner  world  I  go  from 
this,  and  let  the  veil  fall." 

Thank  heaven !  it  is  far  different  with  you.  Your 
life  is  full  and  rich.  Mine  is  ended,  and  I  go  on  only 
trom  the  impetus  I  received  in  past  years,  hoping, 


254       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

trusting,  praying  that  it  may  soon  cease.  "God 
lets  his  servants  go  to  bed  and  sleep  when  they 
have  done  their  work,"  says  old  Fuller,  and  so  I 
suppose  there  is  still  work  for  me  to  do  &  I  must  go 
toiling  on  .  .  . 

Do  pray  drop  me  a  line  from  the  mountain 
heights  to  let  me  know  how  you  all  fare,  and 
believe  me 

Very  gratefully  yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Wallingford,  October  7th,  1888 
Dear  Wright:  Your  charity  is  quite  large  and  I 
am  quite  willing  to  trust  to  it  to  shield  me  from  the 
suspicion  of  meddling  officiousness  in  what  I  am 
about  to  say.  You  tell  me,  and  I  hail  it  with  joy, 
that  you  are  editing  Edward  Fitzgerald's  letters. 
Have  you  ever  applied  to  Mrs.  F.  A.  Kemble  for 
her  letters  from  him .?  They  were  playmates  in  youth 
and  close  friends  in  later  years,  and  correspond- 
ents, I  believe,  always.  I  remember  that  on  one  of 
my  last  visits  to  Mrs.  Kemble,  when  she  was  in 
Philadelphia,  she  read  to  me  a  long  letter  from  Mr. 
Fitzgerald  and  showed  me  his  photograph.  At  a 
venture,  I  send  you  Mrs.  Kemble's  address,  No. 
26  Hereford  Square,  South  Kensington,  London, 
S.  W.  , 

Don't  curl  your  lip  too  much  at  my  forward- 
ness —  but  never  mind,  do  it  if  you  choose;  I  can't 
see  it  and  I  won't  imagine  it.    I  dare  say  you're  an 


CRABBE  AND  FITZGERALD        255 

old  friend  of  Mrs.  Kemble  and  long  ago  had  every 
letter  Fitzgerald  ever  wrote  to  her. 

Can  you  explain  or  understand  why  Fitzgerald 
had  such  a  fervent  admiration  for  Crabbe  —  If  the 
style  is  the  man,  could  there  be  men  more  widely 
different  than  these  two?  The  same  pleasure  can 
be  taken  in  Crabbe's  poetry  (rhythm  rather)  that 
can  be  found  in  Tenier's  pictures,  not  an  atom  more. 
The  interior  with  its  pots  and  pans  is  marvellously 
exact,  but  when  all's  done  you  look  but  on  a  stool. 
I  remember  many  years  ago  at  Fitzgerald's  request 
I  tried  hard  to  make  Lippincott  publish  some  se- 
lections from  Crabbe  which  Fitzgerald  had  edited 
or  rather  prepared  for  the  press.  But  the  hard- 
headed  publisher  said  there  was  no  money  in  them. 

Long  before  it  was  known  here  who  translated 
Omar  Khayyam,  I  was  fascinated  by  these  quat- 
rains, and  sent  for  fifteen  or  twenty  copies  from 
Quaritch,  and  distributed  them  among  my  friends. 
They  were  of  the  2nd  edition.  Not  a  single  change 
did  Fitzgerald  make  in  the  3rd  edition  which  could 
be  called,  I  think,  an  improvement.  What  he  struck 
out  at  first  heat  was  always  the  best.  But  good- 
night &  good-bye. 
Yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W.  J.  Rolje 

222  West  Washington  Square 

November  loth,  1888 
Dear  Rolfe:  Your  two  books,  "Lays  of  Ancient 
Rome"   &  "Tales   from   English   History,"  have 


2s6       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

given  me  real  pleasure.  They  are  delightful.  Your 
Introduction  to  the  "Lays"  is  masterly,  the  work 
of  a  genuine  scholar  —  'twould  be  hard  to  find  any- 
where else  so  much  information  compressed  into 
so  compact  a  compass.  Every  paragraph  is  full 
freighted  —  and  the  whole  is  a  needful  intro- 
duction, in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word,  to  the 
Poems.  .  .  . 

Your  other  book,  too,  is  charming  —  Of  course 
you  suffered  frightfully  from  embarrassment  of 
wealth,  and  your  selection  is  most  happy.  I  was 
particularly  glad  to  see  Drayton's  "Aglncourt" 
—  of  which,  I  think,  Longfellow's  "Skeleton  in 
Armor"  is  really  the  only  other  noteworthy  or 
genuine  imitation  in  this  metre,  although  you 
mention  Scott's  and  Heber's  pieces.  We  don't 
estimate  Drayton  half  highly  enough:  he  was  a 
genuine  poet.  .  .  . 

Tennyson's  "Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade"  is 
falsetto;  there's  not  an  atom  of  martial  strain  in 
his  ludshlp  and  he  thinks  there  is,  so  when  he  tries 
he  grinds  out  those  mock  heroics.  "All  the  world 
wondered!"  What  bosh!  And  you're  wrong  in 
your  notes  too,  my  lad.  No  one  doubts  that  Nolan 
falsified  his  orders.  He'd  have  been  courtmar- 
tlalled  had  he  survived  the  fight.  Bless  you,  it 
wasn't  a  mile  and  a  half  that  the  six  hundred  had 
to  ride,  it  was  a  short  half-mile.  I  have  been  over 
every  inch  of  the  way,  and  talked  with  the  sur- 
vivors on  the  spot.  Sir  William  Codrington 
showed  me  the  position  of  every  battery  —  and 


THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE  257 

though  he  didn't  say  it  was  Nolan's  fault,  other 
officers  did.  Nolan  was  struck  in  the  breast  by  a 
shell  &  they  think  that  he  tried  to  undo  his  work 
and  tell  them  to  go  back,  but  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  utter  a  word;  he  could  only  wave  his  hands 
to  the  rest  to  retreat  and  died  gasping.  Cardigan, 
bad  as  he  was,  was  noble  enough  never  openly  to 
blame  Nolan.  Dear  me!  how  garrulous  I  grow. 
Forgive  &  don't  forget 

Thine 

H.  H.  F. 


To  Creston  Clarke 


1 


222  West  Washington  Square 

7  July,  1889 

Dear  Mr.  Clarke:  You  must  pardon  an  old  man, 
and  a  very  busy  old  man,  if  he  has  neglected  to 
answer  very  promptly  a  letter  which  has  interested 
him  very  much. 

If  I  am  not  mistaken  the  very  thing  which  has 
occurred  to  you  in  regard  to  the  dramatic  superi- 
ority of  the  First  Quarto  of  Hamlet  occurred  to  the 
Devrient  brothers  and  they  altered  their  acting 
copy  accordingly.  If  I  remember  rightly  they  fol- 
lowed Q,  quite  exactly;  they  certainly  proclaimed 
its  greatly  superior  qualities  for  the  stage.  (I  am 
writing  away  from  my  books  and  my  memory  will 
not  retain  everything.)  I  remember  that  I  gave 
some  extracts  from  the  preface  of  their  edition  in 
the  second  volume  of  my  "Hamlet"  —  where,  too, 
you'll  find  a  Reprint  of  the  First  Quarto.   I  think 

*  A  nephew  of  Edwin  Booth. 


2s8       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

the  stage  arrangement  of  the  First  Quarto  was 
brought  out  in  London  a  few  years  ago  under  the 
auspices  of  the  *'New  Shakspere  Society,"  and  the 
popular  verdict  justified  it.  I  can  look  the  matter 
up  when  I  go  to  town,  if  you  would  Hke  it.  As  to 
the  arrangement  of  Acts  &  Scenes  about  which 
you  ask  me,  my  opinion  is  not  worth  a  straw  — 
such  a  question  you,  as  an  actor,  can  decide  far, 
far  better  —  and  as  for  authority,  I  don't  think 
you  need  any  —  I  should  do  just  what  my  dra- 
matic instinct  told  me  was  best,  &  let  your  popu- 
lar success  decide.  If  you  lose  your  hold  on  your 
audience  you've  failed.  If  it  is  rivetted  you've 
succeeded,  and  no  one  would  nod  more  approv- 
ingly than  Shakespeare  himself. 

I  don't  believe  you've  studied  that  Second  vol- 
ume [of  the  Variorum  Hamlet]  as  much  as  the  First, 
and  yet  I  think  you'll  find  it  the  more  valuable 
of  the  two.  Do  read  Werder's  criticism  —  Not 
that  I  wholly  agree  with  him,  but  it  is  very  novel 
and  very  brilliant.  (Your  Uncle  Edwin  had  a  most 
laughable  interview  with  Werder  in  Berlin  —  ask 
him  to  describe  it.) 

It  is  quite  delightful  to  find  that  Hamlet,  in- 
stead of  being  muddy  mettled,  is  the  very  soul  of 
energy  and  full  of  dash.  You'll  find  the  Devrient 
extract  by  looking  for  the  name  in  the  Index. 

It  is  very  pleasant  to  see  how  much  in  earnest 
you  are;  it  augurs  finely  for  your  success  —  which 
is  not  to  be  measured  by  the  applause  of  one  or  two 
seasons,  however  vociferous.     But  you've  got  to 


THE  STUDY  OF  HAMLET  259 

make  a  mark  and  leave  a  deep  impress  on  the  stage 
by  your  personality,  &  this  you  can  do  only  by  the 
deepest  thought  and  study.  When  Shakespeare  put 
years  of  thought  into  Hamlet  is  it  likely  that  we, 
poor  little  pygmy  atomies,  can  get  it  out  in  an  hour? 

Don't  hesitate  to  call  on  me  for  aid  &  call  on  me 
personally  when  you  are  in  Philadelphia.  You 
have  a  large  claim  on  me  for  your  father's  sake, 
for  your  Uncle's  sake,  &  for  your  own  sake  as  an 
earnest  student. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Creston  Clarke 
Yours  faithfully 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  F.  A.  Leo 

Wallingford,  24  November,  1889 
My  dear  Leo  :  You  have  a  right  to  think  me  a 
most  unconscionable  wretch  for  having  so  long 
delayed  to  thank  you  for  this  dainty  little  volume 
of  "Poems."  The  truth  is  I  did  not  wish  to  thank 
you  in  a  formal  way  until  I  had  read  them;  and 
my  chances  to  read  them  have  been  slim.  I  could 
snatch  only  odd  minutes  now  and  then.  But  when- 
ever and  wherever  I  opened  the  book,  dear  Leo,  I 
always  found  something  charming  and  graceful 
and  attractive.  You  have  reason  to  be  proud  of 
the  Poems,  and  your  fellow  countrymen  have 
reason  to  be  proud  of  you.  I  shall  always  prize  the 
volume  for  its  own  sake,  and  for  yours.  My  heart- 
iest thanks  be  yours  for  it. 

I  am  in  the  midst  of  seeing  "As  You  Like  It" 


26o       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

through  the  press.  You  Germans  have  been  sin- 
gularly silent  over  this  delightful  Comedy.  My 
German  extracts  are  very  meagre  in  amount,  and 
not  of  the  highest  tone  in  quality.  The  tragedies 
have  attracted  you  far  more  than  the  comedies. 
As  far  as  I,  personally,  am  concerned,  I  much  pre- 
fer the  latter.  Life  itself  is  enough  of  a  tragedy. 
We  need  not  go  to  the  world  of  imagination  for  it 
—  it  lies  all  around  us  in  our  daily  life. 

Write  to  me,  dear  Leo,  when  the  spirit  moves 
you,  and  remember  that  I  am 
Faithfully  yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Caroline  A.  Furness 

Wallingford,  1 3  July,  1 890 

A  DULL,  dark  Sunday,  with  lowering  skies,  oc- 
casional heavy  downpours  from  clouds  not  much 
higher  than  the  top  of  Horrie's  observatory,  with 
poor  bedraggled  robins  and  catbirds,  hunting 
hungry  through  the  wet  grass  for  a  stray  bit,  the 
house  damp  and  misty  with  the  bannisters  sliddery 
and  the  paper  on  the  walls  in  large  blisters,  flies 
persistent,  with  gluey  feet,  dulness  profound  every- 
where but  in  the  parlor,  where  a  bright  fire  is 
blazing  to  cheer  your  grandfather  who  inconti- 
nently left  it  at  noon  to  go  over  to  your  Aunt 
Nannie's  to  have  his  Sunday  service  with  her  and 
to  stay  to  lunch  —  there,  dear  little  girl,  you  have 
a  picture  of  the  day  and  the  hour  wherein  your 
memory  and  imagination  can  fill  up  many  a  detail 


TALKING  TO  THE  DEAF  261 

—  especially  Dick's  tail  which  wags  fast  and  fu- 
riously when  he  comes  every  now  and  then  for  a  bit 
of  sympathy,  as  though  he  knew  I  was  writing  to 
you  &  was  anxious  to  send  you  a  message.  .  .  . 

Carrie  Thomas  left  your  Aunt  Nannie  a  day  or 
two  ago.  She  dined  and  spent  the  evening  here 
once.  Not  having  all  you  'uns  to  help  entertain 
her,  the  task  of  enlivening  her  fell  wholly  upon 
me  —  Your  Aunt  Nannie  and  your  Grandfather 
foregathered  in  the  parlor  and  Lilly  knitted  si- 
lently and  steadily.  Indeed  I  got  on  better  than 
I  could  have  dared  to  hope,  and  to  such  an  extent 
did  we  warm  to  one  another  in  comparing  notes  on 
the  subject  of  deafness  that,  by  my  halidome !  'twas 
droll  to  hear  her  confess  that  she  much  disliked  to 
talk  to  deaf  people;  nay,  she  even  went  so  far  as  to 
acknowledge  that  much  as  she  loved  me  through 
kinship  and  regard  she  still  did  very  much  reluct 
at  talking  to  me.  Whereupon  with  a  merry, 
merry  laugh  I  told  her  that  she  interpreted  my 
feelings  exactly,  and  that  I,  in  return,  hated  to 
talk  to  her  —  This  don't  sound  like  a  pleasant  way 
of  entertaining  your  guests  —  but  she  and  I  kind 
o'  seemed  to  enjoy  it.  .  .  . 

Think  now  and  then  of  your  loving  old 

Father 

To  C.  A.  F. 

Wallingford,  27  July,  1890 

Whenever  I  go  to  town,  dearest  little  girl,  which 
I  have  to  do  the  first  three  days  of  every  week,  I 


262       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

come  back  in  the  train  which  reaches  here  just  be- 
fore tea  at  seven  o'clock,  and  I  always  find  your 
grandfather  with  his  placid,  benignant  face,  await- 
ing me.  One  day  last  week  I  saw  a  sight  which,  if 
you  could  have  watched  it  unseen,  would  have 
made  you  blush  again,  with  pleasure.  As  I  de- 
scended the  steps  from  the  station  your  grand- 
father came  eagerly  towards  me,  his  face  beaming 
jwith  delight,  and  holding  out  a  fluttering  page 
which  he  kept  fairly  kissing  with  the  devotion  of  a 
lover.  Ah,  you  little  minx,  are  you  already  be- 
ginning to  blush  in  anticipation.?  It  was  your  letter 
to  him  thanking  him  for  his  birthday  present!  His 
joy  was  exuberant.  He  could  not  find  adjectives 
tender  enough,  or  loving  enough,  or  admiring 
enough  to  speak  of  you.  Indeed  and  indeed,  in  thus 
making  him  happy,  you  have  gratified  me  sover- 
eignly. Dearly  as  I  love  to  get  your  letters,  I  do 
not  begrudge  a  single  sheet  you  write  to  him.  ...  It 
is  curious  to  note,  and  pleasant  withal,  how  readily 
he  falls  into  set  ways.  His  morning  drive  to  Media, 
with  John,  he  will  on  no  account  forego.  (At  that 
city  of  shops  he  will  insist  on  buying  bon-bons 
of  questionable  purity,  which  it  requires  all  our 
Machiavellian  diplomacy  to  keep  from  the  innocent 
mouths  of  little  Kate  and  Fairman.^  Then,  too, 
after  our  late  dinner  or  tea,  he  depends  on  sitting 
at  the  end  of  the  first  terrace  and  watching  for 
Mars,  which  is  due  in  the  sky,  over  the  magnolia 

^  Helen  Kate  Furness  and  Fairman  Rogers  Furness,  H.  H.  F.'s 
grandchildren,  daughter  and  son  of  Walter  Rogers  Furness. 


THE  CHARMS  OF  PARIS  263 

tree.  And  it  is  a  soothing  custom,  for  two  white- 
haired  old  men,  the  younger  in  years  much  the 
older  in  spirit. 

.  .  .  And  so  you  like  Paris.  I  don't  wonder  at  it. 
The  gay  and  careless  side,  which  is  all  the  travel- 
lers see,  is  very  fascinating.  Your  Mother  loved 
dearly  to  sit  o'  evenings  on  the  Boulevards  and 
sip  demi-tasse,  and  watch  the  stream  of  life  flow 
by.  Heine  (to  read  whose  writings  it  is  alone 
worth  learning  German)  was  enamoured  of  Paris, 
German  though  he  was,  and  says  in  one  of  his 
delightful  essays  that,  as  it  is  well  known  how  our 
ghosts  always  haunt  the  spot  where  we  have 
buried  any  treasure,  he  intended  before  he  died  to 
bury  a  small  bag  of  francs  somewhere  along  the 
Boulevards  so  that  even  as  a  disembodied  spirit 
he  might  enjoy  that  carnival,  in  saecula  saeculorum. 
It  is,  however,  always  worth  while  to  remember 
that  as  far  as  the  pendulum  swings  in  one  di- 
rection, it  swings  exactly  as  far  in  the  other. 
Where  there  is  extreme  gaiety  there  is  always,  and 
not  far  off  either,  extreme  misery.  What  is  good 
about  Paris,  and  I  did  not  find  it  out  till  I  went 
there,  is  that  in  no  city  in  the  world  are  there  more 
charitable  institutions,  nowhere  are  the  poor  so 
watched  and  tended.  I  remember  how  deeply  I 
was  impressed  by  seeing  a  hospital  "Pour  les  In- 
curables," a  charity  we  have  in  this  city  only  on 
a  very  small  scale  and  within  only  two  or  three 
years,  while  it  was  on  a  large  scale  in  Paris  thirty 
years  ago.  Then,  too,  on  my  very  first  walk  in  that 


264       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

city,  I  passed  by  the  magnificent  buildings  of  the 
Tullerles  and  the  Louvre,  just  then  a-bullding,  and 
saw  a  little  frame  house  with  "Pour  les  blesses" 
over  the  door  where  a  surgeon  was  in  attendance 
all  day  to  care  for  workmen  who  might  meet  with 
accidents.  I  had  always  had  an  antipathy  to 
Paris;  the  stories  I  had  heard  of  it  always  dis- 
gusted me,  &  I  entered  It  with  stern  antagonism. 
The  sight  of  that  beautiful  provision  for  wounded 
workmen  gave  me  very  serious  pause,  and  when  I 
found  that  beneath  all  the  gay  frivolity  there  was 
a  most  serious,  earnest  humanity  I  was  reconciled 
&  could  forgive  (and  enjoy)  the  one  for  the  sake 
of  the  other. 

This  Is  a  worthless  letter  —  most  barren  of  news. 
But  repentance  comes  too  late.  Pm  going  to  write 
to  Willy.  Read  and  accept  that  letter  as  a  con- 
tinuation of  this  from 

Your  most  loving  and  devoted 

Father 

To  William  Pepper 

Wallingford,  i^th  Nov.  1890 
My  dear  Provost:  You  ask  me  about  the  cost  of 
a  good  working  library  of  English  and  American 
Literature.  'TIs  a  very  hard  question  to  answer  — 
the  definition  of  what  constitutes  a  "good  work- 
ing" library  is  as  various  as  men's  minds  and 
would  extend  from  a  single  copy  of  an  Encyclo- 
pedia up  to  the  British  Museum.  However,  look- 
ing at  the  needs,  the  absolute  needs  of  a  University 


A  GOOD  WORKING  LIBRARY       265 

such  as  ours,  I  should  say  a  selection  such  as  the 
following  would  be  as  moderate  as  could  be  de- 
vised. Be  it  here  understood  that  I  do  not  here 
include  any  fictitiously  valuable  books,  such  as  the 
Mazarin  Bible  or  the  First  Folio  of  Shakespeare, 
nor  any  purely  technical  books  which  belong  to  the 
special  libraries  of  our  technical  schools.  I  have 
tried  to  enumerate  only  those  classes  of  books, 
which  would  be  indispensable  to  the  students  in 
writing  their  college  Themes  or  in  laying  the  funda- 
mental groundwork  of  a  sound  English  education. 
First  and  foremost  must  come  all  books  of 
Reference,  such  as  Dictionaries  (Philological,  Bio- 
graphical, Bibliographical,  Technical,  etc.),  Ency- 
clopedias, Grammars  (Early  and  Late,  such  as 
German  Matzners  and  Koch's  —  these  are  not 
German  grammars,  but  English  grammars  by 
Germans).  The  Early  English  Text  Society's  pub- 
lication, The  Hunterian  Club  (of  Glasgow),  The 
Spenser  Society,  The  Camden,  Hakluyt,  Rox- 
burghe,  Philoblblon  Societies,  etc.  Arber's  Re- 
prints, Stationers'  Registers,  Grosart's  Huth  Li- 
brary, Anglia,  Englische  Studien,  etc.,  etc.,  es- 
pecially the  various  translations  of  the  Bible.  (The 
basis  of  our  most  learned  late  Prof,  Dr.  Knauth's 
fame  was  laid  on  his  intimate  knowledge  of  these 
translations.)  I  do  not  think  that  for  the  purchase 
of  these  the  sum' of  eight  thousand  dollars  would  be 
more  than  adequate.  (I  have  lately  been  entrusted 
with  the  expenditure  of  one  thousand  dollars  in 
this  department  for  the  Philadelphia  Library  and  1 


266       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

therefore  know  how  very  little  way  that  sum  goes 
—  ten  times  this  sum  will  have  to  be  expended 
before  that  Library  will  stand  where  I  think  it 
should  stand  in  this  English  Department.)  I  am 
therefore  moderate  in  estimating  for  our  Univer- 
sity the  sum  I  mentioned  above. 

Next  come  the  books  which  makes  the  Diction- 
aries and  Grammars  necessary.  For  the  sake  of  es- 
timating the  cost,  they  can  be  divided  into  Prose 
and  Poetry. 

In  Prose  must  be  included  all  writers  from  Sir 
Thomas  Malory  with  his  Morte  dArthur  down  to 
Thomas  Carlyle.  I  needn't  specify;  we  all  know 
what  a  host  there  is.  Under  this  head  should  be 
included,  perhaps,  full  sets  of  the  standard  maga- 
zines such  as  Edinburgh,  Blackwood,  Gentleman's, 
Quarterly,  etc.  The  cost  of  this  department  would 
amount  to  about  five  thousand  dollars.  This  would 
represent,  say,  about  three  thousand  volumes  (not 
authors,  but  volumes;  Dickens,  for  instance,  runs 
up  to  about  fifty  volumes). 

For  Poetry  I  should  say,  that  assuredly  about 
the  same  amount  would  be  required,  if  not  more. 
We  must  remember  that  we  are  here  dealing  with 
not  only  the  Elizabethan,  but  with  the  Queen 
Anne,  and  the  Victorian  periods.  Although  for  the 
Elizabethan  we  must  rely  chiefly  upon  Reprints, 
yet  these  Reprints  have  grown  costly.  Here  too 
belong  the  Chaucer  Society's  publications,  and  the 
Ballad  Society. 

I  do  not  forget  that  in  all  these  Departments  we 


A  GOOD  WORKING  LIBRARY       267 

have  already  somewhat  In  our  present  Library. 
It  is  for  this  reason,  therefore,  that  I  am  rather 
understating  than  overstating  our  needs. 

In  American  Literature,  I'm  afraid  my  knowl- 
edge is  very  shallow.  Looking  at  the  eagerness 
with  which  early  Americana  are  now  sought  after 
(and  it  does  seem  fitting  that  such  a  department 
should  be  well  represented  in  an  American  College), 
I  should  imagine  that  the  ground  could  be  well 
and  adequately  covered  by  another  five  thousand 
dollars.  .  .  . 

I  cannot  imagine  how  a  greater  impetus  can  be 
given  to  our  University  than  by  such  a  gift  of 
books.  The  life  and  soul  of  a  University  lie  in  its 
Library.  The  larger  the  Library  the  grander,  and 
more  enduring  and  more  far-reaching  the  influence 
of  the  University,  The  fact  that  we  have  now  the 
finest,  most  complete  collection  of  Latin  literature 
in  the  Western  hemisphere  ought  to  stimulate  us 
to  keep  pace  in  a  literature  that  is  far  more  useful 
to  us  and  comes  closer  to  our  hearts  and  daily  lives 
than  the  Latin.  But  the  prospect  is  too  dazzling; 
I  shall  sink  into  bathos  if  I  keep  on  any  longer, 
and  so,  my  dear  Pepper,  I  can  only  sign  myself 
Your  friend  and  servant 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Edwin  Booth 

222  West  Washington  Square 

6  Dec,  1890 

My  dear  Ned:  I'm  afraid  you  must  forego,  this 

time,  the  happy  eminence  of  an  original  emendcr  of 


268       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

the  divine  Williams.  That  "eale"  was  supposed 
to  be  ill  was  conjectured  by  Capell  a  hundred  and 
thirty  years  ago,  and  as  such  has  been  mumbled 
and  chewed,  sometimes  swallowed  and  sometimes 
spat  out,  by  various  commentators  ever  since. 

That  "eale"  was  specifically  eHl  (just  as  you 
have  it)  was  proposed  by  one  Swynfen  Jervis 
thirty  years  ago,  and  has  since  received  the  same 
treatment  as  its  forbear  ill. 

My  own  opinion  is  that  you  and  S.  J.  are  exactly 

right,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  sentence  I  adopt 

Corson's  interpretation  which  follows  the  original 

text  without  the  alteration  of  a  single  letter: 

The  dram  of  evil 
Doth  all  the  noble  substance  with  a  doubt. 

I.e.,  a  wee  atom  of  evil  will  permeate  whatever  is 
noble  with  a  suspicion  —  "substance"  is  a  verb:  — 
the  evil  substances,  penetrates  with  its  own  essence 
whatever  is  noble,  &c.  Do  you  take  the  idea?  In 
the  original  it  reads  "substance  of  a  doubt,"  but 
"with"  and  "of"  are  interchangeable;  as  you 
know  well  enough,  Shakespeare  often  &  often  uses 
"of"  where  we  should  use  "with."  If  you  under- 
stand this,  'tis  clear  that  I've  explained  it  more 
intelligibly  than  Corson  —  for  his  explanation 
broke  my  head  before  I  mastered  it. 

Awful  glad  you're  all  right  again  —  now  don't 
go  and  load  its  little  stummie  with  naughty  indi- 
gestible food  and  you'll  stay  so. 

Blessings  on  your  bonnie  face. 

H.  H.  F. 


METHOD  269 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

222  West  Washington  Square 

31  December,  1890 

My  dear  Wright:  What  a  thing  it  is  to  be  me- 
thodical!—  a  quality  I  have  struggled  to  attain 
all  my  life,  and  now  towards  the  close  of  that  life  I 
begin  to  mistrust  and  even  anathematize  it.  "Past 
reason  hunted,  and  past  reason  hated." 

As  soon  as  I  have  answered  a  letter,  I  always 
mark  on  it  the  date  of  my  answer. 

I  have  just  found  a  letter  of  yours,  of  last  May, 
whereon  there  is  no  record  that  I  ever  replied  to  it, 
and  it  contained  some  queries  anent  the  readings 
in  my  F,  and  Fj  which  should  have  had  an  imme- 
diate answer. 

0-hon-a-ree!  did  I  never  answer  you.''  I  haven't 
the  faintest  recollection  of  so  doing  and  I  am 
afraid  I  must  throw  myself  at  your  feet  and  pray 
for  mercy. 

If  I  did  not,  say  but  the  word,  and  the  needed 
collation  shall  travel  back  to  you  as  fast  as  winds 
give  benefit  and  convoy  is  assistant. 

At  this  season,  dear  Wright,  take  from  my  lips 
the  wish  of  happy  years  —  and  so  me  totum  tuo 
amori  fideique  commando  — 

^        Horace  Howard  Furness 
To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

222  West  Washington  Square,  6th  FeFy,  1891 
My  dear  Wright:  As  we  have  never  met  face  to 
face  my  simulacrum  in  your  mind  can  suffer  no  loss 


270       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

of  dignity  if  I  beg  you  to  picture  me  as  swinging 
round  my  hat  to  the  utmost  compass  of  my  out- 
stretched arm,  over  the  arrival  this  morning  of 
Volume  the  First.^ 

Albeit  attached  as  I  am  to  the  First  Edition,  I 
must  acknowledge  that  I  like  the  outward  show  of 
this  Second  better  —  I  like  the  snow-white  paper 
and  the  clear  type. 

'Tis  a  true  thing,  too,  to  reprint  the  Preface  of 
the  First  Edition,  with  the  notes  thereof,  as  far  as 
practicable,  ipsissimis  verbis. 

I  do  most  heartily  congratulate  you  for  your 
sake,  and  thank  you  for  my  own. 

Last  summer  I  collated  "The  Tempest"  and  the 
trifling  oversights  which  I  noted  in  the  First  edi- 
tion have  been,  I  see,  nearly  all  corrected  in 
the  present.  But,  Lord!  (a  la  Pepys)  who  cares 
whether  the  authority  be  Rowe  ii,  or  Pope,  Stee- 
vens,  or  Singer  —  The  variations  in  the  Folios, 
however,  are  interesting.  In  HI,  i,  80,  you  record 
in  both  editions  ''^ seekd  F3  F^."  In  my  folio  it  is 
unmistakably  seekt.  This,  I  think,  is  the  only  dis- 
crepancy which  I  noted. 

Again  thanking  you,  dear  Wright,  for  remem- 
bering me,  I  remain 

Yours  faithfully 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

I  do  like  your  plain  unlettered  name  on  the 
title-page.  'Tis  vastly  more  distinguished  than  if 
you  had  the  whole  alphabet  after  it. 

'  Of  the  Second  Edition  of  the  Cambridge  Shakespeare. 


INFLUENZA  271 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Wallingford,  24  June,  189 1 
My  dear  Wright:  I  thank  you  over  and  over 
again  for  these  verses  of  Fitzgerald's  —  They  are 
so  simple,  so  direct,  so  charming,  and  so  full  of 
feeling.  Who  can  read  the  second  without  emo- 
tion ?  'Twas  very  good  of  you  to  remember  me. 

I'm  woe  to  think  that  you  should  be  suffering 
from  this  wretched  epidemic.  I  had  it  in  the  Spring, 
but  not  so  severely  that  I  could  not  set  my  teeth 
and  live  my  daily  life  in  spite  of  it.  But  the  mental 
prostration  is  the  hardest  to  withstand.  I  longed 
to  become  a  China  Mandarin  and  squat  all  day 
long,  wagging  my  hands  and  sticking  my  tongue 
out. 

Don't  think  of  answering  this  —  it  bears  merely 
my  thanks  and  my  sympathy. 

And  e'en  my  thanks  for  the  fine  Vol.  II  —  which 
is  the  last  to  reach  these  shores.  How  vast  an  im- 
provement in  type  over  the  first.  Beheve  me,  dear 
Wright 

Cordially  yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  C.  A.  F, 

Wallingford,  Jth  July,  '91 
Dearest  LITTLE  one:  This  is  only  a  wail  over 
your  absence.  I  know  you're  having  a  lovely  time, 
and  I  wouldn't  have  you  back  again  one  minute 
before  the  allotted  hour,  but  my!  how  empty  the 
house   seems!    My    footsteps   echo   through    the 


272       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

vacant  corridors  (no  houses  in  sentimental  writing 
have  "entries";  they're  always  "corridors")  and 
my  voice  reverberates  in  the  silent  rooms.  We 
propose  to  banish  the  dining  table  and  have  the 
table  spread  on  the  top  of  an  umbrella.  But,  in- 
deed, we  do  miss  you!  Willie  is  so  depressed  at 
your  absence  that  I  have  been  obliged  furtively  to 
conceal  his  razors.  Walter  &  Helen  try  to  distract 
themselves  in  the  excitement  of  filling  up  their  lily 
pond.  But  I  can  see  that  their  joy  is  hollow.  Even 
the  coon  is  restless  and  broke  his  chain  last  night, 
evidently  bent  on  searching  for  you.  Walter  was 
just  going  into  his  bath  when  Helen  —  herself  in 
night  apparel,  brought  him  word.  Whereupon, 
donning  dressing-gowns  and  slippers,  the  husband 
and  wife  flew  over  Delaware  County  in  search  of 
the  truant,  whom  they  at  last  found  and  rechained. 
But  the  neighborhood  is  rife  this  morning  with 
ghost  stories  and  children,  far  and  near,  have  gone 
quaking  to  bed  this  night. 

Ah,  well,  this  is  only  a  little  greeting  to  you  — 
for  fear  that  you  will  clean  forget 

Your  loving  old 

Father 

To  W.  J.  Rolfe 

Wallingford,  2  August,  1 891 
Dear  old  boy:  .  .  .  What  a  pleasant  fraternity 
Sh.  Edd.  are  in  private  and  what  tigers  of  Anjia 
they  are  in  print.   Howard  Staunton  sent  me  the 
other  day  a  handsome  medallion  likeness  of  him- 


SHAKESPEAREAN  STUDY  273 

self,  and  yet  I  suppose  he'd  rend  me  if  he  caught 
me  tripping  editorially.  Dyce  asserts  that  a  Con- 
jecture of  Dr.  Ingleby's  "vies  in  absurdity  with 
any  of  the  misinterpretations  that  ignorance  & 
conceit  have  ever  put  forth  and  etc.,  etc."  All  of 
which  Dr.  Ingleby  wrote  to  me  that  he  considered 
as  "perfectly  allowable  spice.''*  Father  Abraham 
what  a  world! 

But  bye,  bye  —  I  hope  you'll  have  a  delightful 
summer. 

Yours  ever 

H.  H.  F. 

To  F.  A.  Leo 

WalHngford,  October  31,  1891 
My  dear  Leo:  I  should  be  proud  indeed  to  have 
any  word  of  mine  in  your  Sh.  Yearbooks,  but  that 
pride  cannot  be  mine  for  many  a  long  day  yet,  if 
ever.  I  really  have  no  minute  free  from  the  work 
to  which  my  life  is  now  devoted.  I  shall  never 
finish  all  the  plays,  but  I  should  like  to  complete 
as  many  as  I  can  "while  it  is  day,  for  the  night 
Cometh  wherein  no  man  can  work."  "The  Tem- 
pest" is  finished  and  is  now  going  through  the 
press,  and  the  very  day  that  it  is  published  I  shall 
probably  begin  another.  The  spirit  driveth  me, 
and  'tis  my  only  nepenthe.  As  for  Shakespearean 
study,  and,  in  fact,  for  all  study,  it  is  not  the  goal 
reached  that  is  the  great  gain,  but  it  is  the  reaching 
it.  Just  as  the  fox  is  worth  nothing  when  it  is 
caught,  but  the  catching  it  is  the  great  thing.    So 


274       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

of  your  textual  criticism  on  Shakespeare;  you  may 
not  be  successful,  but  you  have  gained  much  in  the 
process.  You  Germans  scarcely  realize  how  dear 
Shakespeare  is  to  the  English  heart,  and  for  a  for- 
eigner to  step  in  and  attempt  to  settle  any  little 
difficulty  which  we  may  have  with  him  is  exactly 
like  a  stranger's  interfering  between  husband  and 
wife,  and  you  know  it  is  proverbial  that  in  this  latter 
case  the  stranger  turns  all  the  wrath  upon  himself. 
But,  dear  Leo,  you  may  amend  Shakespeare  from 
The  Tempest  to  Pericles  if  you  will  only  remember 
that  I  am 

Yours  affectionately 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  C.  A.  F. 

Wallingford,  lo  July,  1892 
Dearest,  dearest  little  daughter  of  ours,  this  week 
has  been  "red-lettered,  eminently  fair."  Twice, 
on  Monday  and  on  Thursday,  the  summer  sun- 
shine was  made  brighter  by  letters  from  you,  both 
from  Dresden,  and  dated  22nd  and  26th  of  June. 
In  the  former  you  were  wrath  all  around  the  horizon 

—  with  Brown,  Shipley,  and  with  us  here  at  home. 
Foolish  little  girl,  you  believed  your  old  father  had 
neglected  to  write  to  you !  Don't  you  remember  that 
I  distinctly  warned  you  not  to  fall  into  this  error.'' 
There  is  always  a  hitch  about  getting  the  first  letters 

—  the  silence  of  all  voices  from  home  seems  un- 
accountable. I  told  you  then  &  I  repeat  it  now, 
that  as  regularly  as  the  Sunday  comes,  I  shall,  if 
I  am  alive,  write  to  you.  .  .  . 


F.  A.  LEO  275 

Your  letter  of  the  22nd,  wherein  you  declared 
that  you  "hated"  Berlin,  took  me  by  surprise; 
your  first  letter  from  that  gorgeous  capital  was 
full  of  enthusiasm  over  it.  I,  myself,  never  liked 
Berlin;  there  was  an  air  of  cold  grandeur  which 
displeased  me,  but  then  I  attributed  it  to  its  Prot- 
estantism, and  missed  the  warmer,  more  emotional 
atmosphere  of  the  Catholic  cities  of  South  Ger- 
many. 

Good  for  old  Leo!  I'm  glad  he  responded  cor- 
dially. I  had  a  letter  from  him  full  of  enthusiasm 
over  you.  He  says  he  "fell  immediately  in  love. 
What  a  sweet,  kind,  intelligent  face,  what  a  hearty, 
good,  and  spiritful  smile,  how  true-hearted  in  her 
shaking  the  hand." 

Then  he  adds:  "But  my  intoxication  did  not 
blind  me  so  far  that  I  should  not  have  enjoyed  the 
acquaintance  of  the  third  Dr.  Furness,  who  seems 
rather  young  for  a  Dr.  It  seems  to  be  a  special  dis- 
position of  the  Furness  family  to  be  high-minded." 
He  regretted  that  you  could  not  see  Mrs.  Leo, 
who,  he  says,  since  the  death  of  his  daughter, 
"does  not  thrive  in  society." 

He's  evidently  a  good,  warmhearted  soul  and 
was,  I  think,  really  gratified  by  your  visit.  .  .  . 

It's  an  ideal  summer  Sunday  afternoon.  Little 
Kate  and  Fairman  dined  with  us,  and  chattered 
away  without  let  or  hindrance.  They  have  just 
passed  my  window  on  their  way  home  with  their 
nurse.  Your  Grandfather  is  smoking  on  the  porch 
with  the  faithful  and  happy  Lily  by  his  side.    The 


276       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

warm  broad  sunshine  bathes  the  whole  landscape, 
and  from  the  warm  earth  the  flowers  are  blooming 
in  profusion.  The  hollyhocks,  somewhat  maltreated 
by  the  storms,  are  on  the  wane  and  by  next  Sun- 
day there  will  be  only  a  row  of  Ichabods.  The  sweet 
peas  are  beyond  compare,  such  colours,  such  fra- 
grance, such  abundance.  Despite  the  enormous 
bunches  gathered  daily  enough  have  gone  to  seed 
to  supply  the  planting  which  awaits  your  loving 
hands  in  October.  The  Poppies  are  the  present 
glory,  an  endless  variety,  and  your  Grandfather's 
first  visit  every  day  is  to  this  bed,  and  over  it  he 
hangs  with  untiring  delight.  The  two  ends  of  the 
crescent  are  intensely  blue  with  heaven's  own  tinct. 
The  bathtub  keeps  up  its  gold  and  the  portulaccas 
are  just  beginning  to  blossom  here  and  there.  The 
bignonia  on  the  cedar  post  is  beyond  the  reach  of 
my  spud  at  arm's  length.  The  four-o'clocks  are 
grown  into  bushes  and  covered  with  flowers. 

Dear,  take  the  outpourings  of  the  heart  of  your 
doting  old,  old 

Father 

To  C.  A.  F. 

Wallingford,  24  July,  1892 
Dearest  little  daughter  of  ours,  I  think  I  shan't 
be  entirely  at  peace  about  you  until  I  hear  that  you 
are  in  the  cooler  air  of  Switzerland.  I  hope  you've 
not  lingered  too  long  in  those  bake-ovens,  Vienna 
and  Munich.  ...  I  wonder  if  you  will  remember, 
when  you  are  in  Munich,  how  familiar  all  its  streets 


MEMORIES  OF  MUNICH  277 

were  to  the  youthful  feet  of  your  old  father  —  It 
has  been,  however,  enormously  enlarged  since  those 
ancient  days.  The  statue  of  Bavaria  is  now,  I  be- 
lieve, almost  within  the  city  limits  or  at  least  in  the 
suburbs.  It  was  in  a  desolate  meadow  in  my  time  & 
I  remember  that  we  played  a  game  of  leap  frog 
around  its  base.  And  the  dear  old  Frauenkirche 
with  its  twin  towers,  under  whose  shadow  was  the 
restaurant  where  I  always  dined.  ...  I  think  I 
shall  enjoy  more  than  all  others  your  account  of 
Munich.  I  was  a  full-fledged  member  of  two  of  its 
student  clubs.  .  .  . 

The  next  important  item  is  the  extreme  content 
of  your  Uncle  Frank  over  his  appointment  as  ar- 
chitect of  the  Broad  Street  Station.  'Tis  an  enor- 
mous "job,"  estimated  to  cost  about  a  million 
dollars  and  will  closely  occupy  him  for  two  years 
at  least.  The  way  in  which  he  received  the  appoint- 
ment, by  a  unanimous  vote  on  the  first  ballot, 
was  eminently  soul-satisfying.  He  learned  the 
good  news  last  Monday  at  four  o'clock.  He  came 
at  once  to  Idlewild  and  he  and  Fanny  drove  in- 
stantly to  tell  us.  We  were  at  tea  and  I  was  sum- 
moned to  the  bow  window  where  I  found  Fanny 
almost  bursting  with  smiles  and  joyousness  and 
your  Uncle  Frank  wildly  waving  a  handkerchief 
fastened  to  the  whip. 

Agnes  Repplier  paid  us  a  two  days'  visit  on 
Wednesday  and  Thursday.  She  was  in  excellent 
spirits  and  of  uncommon  gentleness.  We  chat- 
tered both  evenings  and  I  read  endlessly  to  them. 


278        HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

My  I  but  I  have  to  pay  for  such  evenings.  My  old 
ear-trumpet  do  hurt  afterwards  a  considerable  bit. 

She  told  a  droll  story  of  one  of  her  friends,  who 
protested  against  wearing  her  scapula  all  the  time. 
"But  don't  you  know,"  said  her  interlocutor, 
"that  if  you  do,  the  Virgin  Mary  will  take  you 
out  of  Purgatory  on  the  Saturday  following  your 
death.?"  "Ah  well,"  she  replied,  "I  guess  I'd  just 
as  leave  wait  till  Monday."  Now  as  fate  would 
have  it,  Agnes  left  her  scapula  here;  Theresa 
brought  it  to  me  after  she  had  left.  Of  course  I 
sent  it  to  her  at  once,  and  equally  of  course  I 
wrote  her  that  I  was  sorry  she'd  have  to  "  wait  till 
Monday"  —  the  day  she'll  get  it. 

Just  think  when  you  receive  this  —  your  trip 
will  be  half  over  —  what  Platonic  cycles  have 
passed  since  you  began  it. 

Your  devoted  old 

Father 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Wallingford,  6  August,  1 892 

My  dear  Wright:  All  hail  to  Volume  Seventh! 
(and  if  the  heat  is  as  oppressive  with  you  as  it  is 
here,  you  '11  appreciate  the  timeous  coolness  of  the 
greeting.) 

Happy,  thrice,  happy  you,  who  can  look  for- 
ward to  the  day  and  hour  when  your  shackles  are 
to  fall.  What  will  you  do.''  Go  to  church  in  a  gail- 
lard  and  come  back  in  a  Coranto .''  Won't  your  very 
walk  be  a  jig.''    Shall  you  record  for  us  the  very 


ALLIBONE'S  DICTIONARY         279 

minute  of  the  day  your  last  proof  was  despatched 
and  state  that  you  took  a  turn  in  the  garden  to 
quiet  your  beating  brains,  as  does  our  Allibone  in 
reference  to  the  conclusion  of  his  dictionary?  What 
a  pied  ninny  that  man  was,  and  how  he  does  irri- 
tate me  with  his  obtrusive  platitudes.  I  suppose 
you  are  too  good  and  equable  in  temperament  to 
mind  such  trifles,  but  me  they  sting  like  pismires. 

Well,  if  you  won't  adopt  Allibone's  plan,  you 
ought  to  have  some  sort  of  celebration.  Won't 
Macmillan  give  a  great  dinner?  At  any  rate,  your 
slumbers  will  be  sweet  that  first  night  —  all  the 
sweeter  probably  without  the  dinner.  Seasons  of 
refreshment  are  good  after  toil,  who  deniges  of  it, 
Betsy  Prig?  That  little  darkie  boy  touched  the 
verities  who  knocked  his  toes  against  a  stone, 
"'cos  they  felt  so  good  when  they'd  done  aching!" 

You  ask  me  who  Stockdale  is,  with  his  "white- 
skirted  meads,"  in  Lear.  You've  probably  found 
out  by  this  time  that  it  is  Stockdale's  edition,  so 
called,  printed  somewhere  along  in  1784  or  '87  (my 
Shakespeare  books  are  all  in  town).  I  think  that  it 
is  this  edition  that  Ayscough  used  for  his  concord- 
ance. Lord!  (Pepys)  how  my  memory  begins  to 
fail  me! 

I  have  just  finished  the  entire  collation,  forty 
editions,  &c,  of  "Mids.  Night's  Dream" —  for 
which  relief  much  thanks.  I  could  bring  out  a  play 
every  year  if  I  gave  my  whole  time  to  it,  but  isn't  it 
better  to  spend  the  daylight  in  summer  among  my 
flowers  and  shrubberies  where  my  father  and  I  go 


28o       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

pottering  around  —  two  old  men,  he  the  younger 
of  the  two. 

Tibi  me  totum  commendo  atque  trado,  dear 
Wright. 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Miss  Agnes  Repplier 

Wallingford,  \$th  August,  1892 

Dear  Miss  Agnes:  By  this  same  mail  I  send  you 
a  Birmingham  paper  containing  a  short  notice  of  a 
cat,  which  I  think  is  not  beneath  your  reading. 

Albeit  I  address  this  to  Philadelphia  I  suppose 
you're  philandering  around  with  your  Bostons  and 
your  Cohassets  and  from  your  snug  seat  by  the 
flesh  pots  of  New  England,  with  their  Yankee 
heave  shoulders  and  Yankee  wave  breasts  (what- 
ever in  the  world  these  may  mean  I  don't  know  —  I 
merely  want  you  to  understand  that  I  read  my 
Bible)  you  cast  never  a  thought  at  humble  Wal- 
lingford and  the  likes  of  us.  Well,  go  your  ways. 
Come  and  see  us  when  you  get  back,  and  in  the 
meantime  believe  me,  dear  Miss  Agnes 
Yours  faithfully 

Horace  Howard  Furness 


CHAPTER  VII 

1893-1898 
To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Wallingford,  4  July,  1 893 

My  dear  Wright:  Half  a  dozen  times  lately  I 
have  been  on  the  point  of  writing  to  you,  first, 
just  on  general  principles,  that  I  might  be  in  touch 
with  you  if  only  for  the  few  minutes  of  my  writing, 
and  secondly,  to  make  you  my  ghostly  confessor 
in  a  question  of  ethics,  when  last  Saturday  a  book 
reached  me  from  Macmillan. 

If  "Daddy"  Wordsworth  confessed  that  his 
"heart  leaped  up  when  he  beheld  a  rainbow  in  the 
sky,"  surely  I  may  be  permitted  to  say  that  my 
heart  bounded  when  I  found  that  the  volume  was 
your  Ninth  and  the  last  of  the,  not  magnum  but, 
maximus  opus.  Indeed,  dear  Wright,  I  do  most 
heartily  congratulate  you  and  envy  the  far  and  cool 
height  you  have  attained.  You  have  accomplished 
the  task  you  set  before  you  long  years  ago,^,  and  the 
work  Is  done  forever,  in  saecula  saeculorum. 

And  your  kind  mention  of  me  gratifies  me  more 
deeply  than  I  can  express.  Who  cares  for  Sir 
Hubert  Stanley!  —  a  word  of  praise  from  you  out- 
weighs a  whole  regiment  of  Sir  Huberts.  Ever 
since  you  wrote  me  that  dear,  tender,  sympathetic 
letter  ten  years  ago  when  the  blackness  first  cov- 
ered me  of  that  shadow  which  has  never  for  one 


282       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

instant  lifted,  I  have  been  bound  to  you  with  hooks 
of  steel.  You  will  never  know,  you  can  never 
know,  how  deeply  I  was  touched  by  those  words  of 
yours.  Ten  years!  ten  years!  But  that  way  mad- 
ness lies  — 

Now  lay  thy  finger  thus  and  let  thy  soul  be  in- 
structed, go  at  once  to  a  photographer  and  have 
your  likeness  taken  as  you  look  on  the  completion 
of  your  Shakespeare,  and  of  course  send  me  a  copy. 
Another  purpose  was  to  thank  you  for  your  out- 
spoken words  about  the  Quarto  facsimiles.  What 
you  say  is  "all  truth  and  daylight,"  as  Clivey  Pivey 
said.  No  more  room  —  but  what  room  would  be 
large  enough  to  tell  you  how  very,  very  much  I  am 
Yours 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Wallingford,  li  September,  1893 
My  dear  Wright:  As  you  are  not  going  to  the 
great  Chicago  Fair  (neither  am  I),  I  send  you  for 
your  enlightenment  a  good  substitute  in  the  "Cos- 
mopolitan" Magazine  which  goes  by  this  post.  It 
is  said  to  give  an  excellent  idea  of  the  big  thing, 
which  greatly  flatters  my  national  pride  in  which  I 
am  quite  content  to  take  on  trust  and  look  at 
through  the  eyes  of  others.  What  is  the  use  of 
trapesing  and  cavorting  (let  me  use  Americanisms 
or  die)  all  over  the  world  in  your  youth,  if  you  can- 
not turn  down  certain  pages  and  say,  "There! 
that  settles  that  thing  forever  for  me  —  'Tis  the 


REST  AFTER  WORK  283 

best  the  Earth  can  show  and  hereafter  I'll  not 
budge  a  step  to  see  a  reproduction."  Much  com- 
fort and  lazy  ease  have  I  squeezed  out  of  that  con- 
solation. 

After  your  long,  hard  work  I  trust  you  are  rest- 
ing royally.  How  I  envy  you  the  feeling,  which  I 
shall  never  share,  of  an  accomplished  task.  That 
same  rest  I  have,  in  a  less  degree,  periodically  at 
the  close  of  each  volume,  and  so  delicious  is  the 
feeling  that  it  is  worth  all  the  previous  anxiety. 

But  *'the  night  is  dark,  the  hour  is  late,  and 
rain  comes  pelting  down"  (I  wish  it  did,  for  we 
have  a  turribel  drought  here,  but  would  you  have 
me  spoil  a  quotation.'')  and  I  must  to  my  truckle 
bed. 

As  winds  give  benefit  and  convoy  is  assistant 
let  me  hear  from  you. 

Thine  while  this  machine  is  to  him 
Yours  affectionately 

H.  H.  F. 

(Pardon  the  foregoing  "Thine"  and  "Yours"  — 
but  I  wouldn't  erase  for  I  would  have  you  receive 
from  me  scarce  a  blot  in  my  papers.) 

To  Charles  Eliot  Norton 

WalUngford,  9  November,  1893 
Dear  Norton:  I  write  in  haste  to  thank  you 
most  warmly  for  this  copy  of  "Lowell's  Letters" 
which  reached  me  today.  You  are  very  kind  to 
remember  the  likes  of  me.  But  no  kindness  or 
gentleness  of  heart  in  you  surprises  me. 


284       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

The  duty  of  the  hour  was  of  no  avail  when  the 
books  came  —  I  dropped  everything  and  was  soon 
lost  in  the  charm  of  the  letters,  and  in  my  admira- 
tion of  the  excellent  way  in  which  you  had  mar- 
shalled them.  Dearly  as  I  should  have  loved  to 
see  more  of  your  wise  and  benignant  self,  yet 
your  reticence  and  persistent  retreat  into  the  back- 
ground is  the  perfection  of  editorial  duty,  and  so 
skilfully  have  you  brought  the  letters  onward  that 
as  I  review  in  my  mind  what  I  have  read  'tis  hard 
to  believe  that  I  have  read  a  continuous  narrative 
told  by  another.  Moreover,  in  no  other  way  than 
that  which  you  have  followed  could  we  have  known 
how  rounded  (totus,  terres  atque  rotundus)  was 
Lowell's  character  and  how  to  a  rare  and  striking 
degree  the  child  was  father  to  the  man.  And  how 
these  Letters  do  revive  the  old,  distressful  anti- 
slavery  days!  When  I  used  to  read  "The  Penn- 
sylvania Freeman"  and  the  "Standard,"  how 
little  I  appreciated  Lowell's  grand  work  and  how 
that  in  it  was  inwrought  so  noble  a  character.  Are 
there  any  similar  angels  working  nowadays  unbe- 
knownst,^ If  you  unearth  any  do  let  me  know. 

What  revelations  of  character  these  letters  are  — 
that  one  which  speaks  of  his  yearning  for  love,  of 
his  readiness  to  love  everyone  he  sees  and  yet  has 
no  response  —  then  too  that  wise,  wise  letter  to 
his  nephew,  my  dear  friend  and  classmate  Charley 
Lowell,  —  that  inestimable  injunction  to  observe 
Nature. 

Again,  dear  Norton,  you  have  put  me  under 


AN  EASY  ANSWER  285 

deep  obligations,  and  it  gratifies  me  so  much  to 
find  you  still  remember 

Yours  affectionately 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  William  J.  Rolfe 

Wallingford,  10  May,  1894 
My  dear  old  boy:  Your  note  of  the  4th  inst. 
found  me  laid  by  the  heels  all  along  of  the  pace  at 
which  I  have  been  living  for  this  many  a  long  day. 
This  simply  by  way  of  apology  for  not  answering 
your  note  on  the  spot,  especially  since  the  answer 
is  so  easy  —  it  is  the  same  as  that  given  by  a  law 
student  who  on  coming  away  from  his  examina- 
tion for  admission  to  the  Bar,  said  ruefully,  "I  an- 
swered only  one  question  correctly.  When  they 
asked  me  what  was  an  estate  in  fee  simple,  I  told 
'em  I  didn't  know." 

And  so  I  must  answer  you,  but  when  I  can  get 
to  town,  and  break  this  enforced  rest,  I'll  look  up 
the  point. 

"Julius  Caesar"  will  probably  be  my  next  play 
—  if  ever  I  get  the  Mid.  N.  Dream  finished,  which 
at  my  present  rate  will  be  never  —  a  month's 
steady  work  would  do  it  —  but  that  month  I  can't 
get.  Decidedly  I  must  resign  from  the  University 
and  the  Phila.  Library  and  move  out  here,  if  I  am 
ever  to  go  on  with  my  Shakespeare  work  —  and  I 
must  go  no  more  philandering  about  giving  Read- 
ings. 'Tis  no  sin,  Hal,  to  labour  in  one's  vocation 
but  Shakespearean  Reading  is  not  my  vocation. 


286       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

Now  don't  you  go  and  say  with  a  cruel  sneer  that 
this  is  the  pride  that  apes  humility.  For  you  know 
it  isn't.  I  have  never  given  a  Reading  that  I  didn't 
want  to  beat  myself  afterwards  for  reading  wrongly 
some  phrase  or  other.  The  chiefest  pleasure  Lowell 
gave  me  was  that  I  got  to  know  you  and  Mrs. 
Rolfe  better.  But  I  must  stop  gabbling  about  my- 
self —  always  a  tiresome  theme.  So  good-night, 
my  boy  — 

Yours  ever 

H.  H.  F. 

To  W,  Aldis  Wright 

JVallingford,  26  August,  1 894 
Hech!  but  I'm  tired  of  writing  letters!  and  you'd 
believe  it  if  you  could  see  the  pile  by  my  side.   So, 
you  dear  Wright,  I'm  going  to  rest  myself  and 
gabble  to  you  for  a  few  minutes. 

I  suppose  you  are  at  Beccles;  I  love  to  think  of 
you  in  that  pretty  little  house,  where  everything 
looks  so  pure  and  fresh  with  the  flowers  blooming 
in  front.  Surely,  every  breath  there  must  bring 
you  health.  I'd  send  you  a  photograph  of  this 
place  of  mine,  if  it  were  possible  to  have  one  taken 
where  a  view  of  the  house  could  be  included.  It  is 
so  completely  surrounded  by  trees  that  no  possible 
view  can  take  in  the  house.  Three  gigantic  lindens 
stand  directly  in  front,  then  two  terraces  with  flower 
beds  lead  down  to  the  lawn.  I  take  endless  delight 
in  flowers  whose  language  is  always  distinct  to  my 
deaf  ears;  and  my  only  recreation  in  winter  is  in 


THE  LINDENSHADE  GARDEN      287 

my  green  house,  where  I  potter  among  the  flowers, 
making  cuttings,  trying  experiments,  hybridising, 
and  having  a  real  good  time.  I  wish  I  could  get 
your  bewitching  little  daisy  to  grow  on  my  lawn  — 
I've  sown  quantities  of  seeds  and  have  even  had 
dozens  and  dozens  of  plants  dibbled  into  the  sod, 
but  in  vain  —  they'll  bloom  one  year  and  then  dis- 
appear forever. 

Heigho,  how  long  it  is  since  I  heard  from  you, 
mon  cher.  I  do  most  fervently  hope  that  wretched 
numbness  has  yielded  to  treatment.  You've  never 
told  me  whether  or  not  the  membership  of  the 
Philosophical  Society  gratified  you.  I  hope  it  did. 
I  was  at  my  wits'  end  to  do  something  to  please 
you,  so  I  proposed  your  name,  and  had  my  dear 
friend,  the  Treasurer  of  the  Society,  second  it  and 
see  it  safely  through  the  Committee,  which  is 
equivalent  to  election.  I  intended  to  couple  Lord 
Acton's  name  with  yours,  but  lord!  he  do  act 
queerly  —  so  he  can  bide  a  wee. 

Time  and  paper  up,  dear  boy;  I  hope  I've  di- 
verted you  for  one  minute. 

Always,  dear  Wright,  yours  affectionately 

H.  H.  F. 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Wallingford,  zSth  August,  1894 

Oh,  joy!  dear  Wright,  I  wrote  to  you  on  Sunday 
evening,  and  yesterday  came  your  letter.  In  my 
delight  I  could  scarcely  refrain  from  some  feats  of 
ground  and  lofty  tumbling.    Honour  bright,  I  was 


288       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

becoming  very  much  worried  about  you.  I  was 
somewhat  reheved  a  while  ago  by  the  news  in  a 
letter  from  Daddy  Skeat,  that  you  were  not  con- 
fined to  your  room.  (Bless  my  soul!  what  have  I 
done!  I'm  more  than  half  inclined  to  tear  up  this 
sheet.  Isn't  Skeat  a  great  friend  of  yours?  and  I 
have  called  him  "Daddy"!  but  I  Hke  Daddies  — 
I  adore  Daddies  —  They're  just  too  utterly  lovely 
for  anything.  There!  you  don't  mind  now,  do  you.'') 
What  a  master  typewriter  you  are!  I'm  tempted 
to  try  the  thing  myself  —  and  yet  I  don't  like  to 
have  a  letter  from  one  I  love  too  legible.  You  read 
it  too  quickly  —  I  like  to  puzzle  over  words  and 
draw  out  the  "linked  sweetness."  The  letter  lasts 
longer  and  you  hold  your  friend's  hand  longer  in 
your  own.  I've  always  detested  my  own  handwrit- 
ing —  it  is  so  vilely  legible.  'Tis  now  nigh  two 
o'clock  A.M.  and  I  must  to  my  truckle  bed,  but  I 
couldn't  go  without  telling  you  the  soothing  com- 
fort your  letter  is  to  me.  Oh,  don't  you  think  that 
'twas  Sidney  Smith  who  put  Bungay  into  Thack- 
eray's head  ^  You  remember  how  the  former  gave 
an  inexpressibly  comic  air  to  his  remarks  by  always 
repeating  (in  his  Essay  on  Methodists,  I  think) 
"Rev.  Mr.  Shufflebottom  of  Bungay." 
Good-night,  dear  Wright 

Yours  ever  H.  H.  F. 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Wallingford,  October  4,  1894 

My  dear  Wright:  So  ever  present  are  you  in  my 
work  (when  I  can  get  at  it)  that  I  am  amazed 


Qe/cucHZre^^ouoz^z/. 


0\4n4/i^  J^H^vt^  h^yyic  Jl^  (4  frm^ 


^OhvCc  ^oCi?    A  /^   ^/tci^  /u  ^ 


^ 


t> 


^^ 


^ 


X 


V 


r 


\3 


fItcU,   JrhJ  f/tcd./  ^  f^Ci/i 


^i/t^^ 


^ 


^ 

^ 

? 


MARRIAGE  OF  DAUGHTER        289 

when  I  look  at  the  date  of  your  last  letter.  It 
seems  as  though  I  were  in  daily  communication 
with  you  and  yet  that  tell  tale  date  is  —  but  no, 
I'll  not  remind  you  of  it.  Haply  you,  too,  are  self 
deceived  &  think  the  date  more  recent  than  it 
really  is. 

It  is  not  altogether  a  cheerful  letter;  you  were 
saddened  by  the  death  of  a  dear  friend  at  Moffat; 
you  had  been  working  hard,  too  hard;  you  had 
learned  the  hard  lesson  of  the  beauty  of  the  law's 
delay  in  a  stuffy  Assize  Court;  and  worst  of  all  had 
dislocated  your  shoulder.  (Whew!  but  that  hurts!) 
You  needed  petting  and  cossetting  up,  and,  in- 
grate  that  I  am,  I  stirred  never  a  finger  in  your 
behalf.  Ah,  well,  time  and  the  hour  runs  through 
the  roughest  day  —  a  quotation  which  is  forever 
in  my  thoughts  and  almost  dally  on  my  lips. 

There  is  a  subdued  bustle  all  around  me  now  — 
my  daughter  Is  to  be  married  in  a  few  days  —  and 
then  I  shall  be  left  alone  with  my  youngest  son  — 
with  whom  I  am  more  than  half  inclined  to  live  out 
here  in  the  country  all  the  year  round.  I  shall, 
build  a  fire  proof  library  and  therein  spend  my  rem- 
nant of  days  till  death  comes  "a-knocking  at  the 
door."  My  daughter  marries  a  young  Dr.  Jayne, 
who  has  already  attained  some  eminence  in  the 
scientific  world,  and  is  Director  of  a  large  Insti- 
tute connected  with  our  University,  devoted  to 
original  research  in  science,  the  only  one  of  its  kind 
in  this  country.  The  young  couple  will  go  abroad 
at  once,  and  if  they  go  to  Cambridge  and  intro- 


290       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

duce  themselves  to  you  I  shall  be  glad,  very  glad 
to  have  a  vicarious  shake  of  your  hand. 

Amidst  multitudinous  distractions  I  have  finished 
"A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream"  and  shall  send  It 
to  press  In  a  few  weeks.  The  only  change  that  I 
have  made  Is  to  put  In  the  Preface  what  I  have 
hitherto  put  in  the  Appendix. 

Do  tell  me  how  Hales  has  succeeded.  He  has 
Gosse's  position,  has  he  not.''  Churton  Collins 
(you  see  the  connection  of  thought  f)  was  here  last 
winter  —  a  man  of  prodigious  memory.  I  think 
you  told  me  you  had  never  met  him  —  he's  a  man 
worth  knowing. 

Have  you  whistled  down  the  wind  my  request 
that  you  should  have  your  photograph  taken.?  Do 
have  one  taken  at  once  and  send  a  copy  right  off 
to 

Yours  affectionately 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Wallingford,  31  October,  1894 

Dear  Wright:  Dr.  Haupt,  of  Baltimore,  sent  me 
'tother  day  your  letter  to  him  in  regard  to  his  new 
translation  of  "Leviticus." 

With  your  strictures,  in  the  main,  on  this  trans- 
lation, I  quite  agree,  and  in  pronouncing  it  "good 
newspaper  English"  you  characterised  it,  prob- 
ably, exactly  as  would  please  Dr.  H.,  If  by  that 
term  you  mean  that  without  being  sedate  it  was 
throughout  Intelligible.    As  I  understood  him,  he 


HAUPT'S  CRITICAL  BIBLE         291 

wished  his  translation  to  be  un-Bibllcal  in  phrase- 
ology and  absolutely  clear.  All  my  share  in  the 
matter  was  to  see  to  it  that  this  end  was  attained. 
Whether  or  not  this  end  be  a  good  one,  is  a  sepa- 
rate question,  and  grave  doubts  may  be  enter- 
tained of  its  propriety.  But  this  question  was  not, 
in  legal  slang,  "coram  judice."  All  I  had  to  do  was 
to  make  it  certain  that  the  elaborate  sacrificial 
formulas  were  so  clear  that  no  one  could  go  astray, 
and  to  quite  disregard  Jacobean  English.  You 
spoke  of  a  wrongly  placed  "inadvertently,"  I  ex- 
amined my  proofs  and  found  that  I  had  corrected 
it.  Also  you  mentioned  "Around"  instead  of 
"about."  This  word  I  adopted  with  the  full  knowl- 
edge that  it  is  neither  in  the  Bible  nor  in  Shake- 
speare —  but  the  word  is  an  excellent  word  for  all 
that,  it  expresses  more  than  "about."  I  think  I 
know  well  enough  that  the  three  witches  "go 
about,  about"  the  caldron.  Nathless  "around" 
is  extremely  old  and  eminently  respectable.  As  to 
"hitching-posts,"  a  thoroughly  American  word, 
(I  don't  suppose  you  have  the  article  in  England) 
—  that  word  occurred  in  the  "Notes"  and  over 
them  I  had  no  jurisdiction. 

What  Haupt  is  going  to  do,  I  do  not  know.  I 
believe  he  has  entrusted  "Leviticus"  to  Prof. 
Driver,  who  will,  I  am  afraid,  make  a  mess  of  it. 
I  believe  he  is  to  combine  Jacobean  and  Victorian, 
which  mislikes  me  much.  It  grates  me  to  read  "he 
that  goes"  instead  of  "he  that  goeth"  or  "he  who 
goes."    However,  I've  grown  so  old  that  I  don't 


292       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

care  much  about  it  nor  about  anything  else  except 
that  you'll  believe,  dear  Wright,  that  I  am 
Yours  as  ever 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

WalUngford,  25  April,  1895 
My  dear  Wright:    Here  we  are  again,  —  with 
our  Httle  bilV  which  I  trust  you'll  like,  and  as  you 
read  I  hope  your  features  will  relax  into  a  smile. 
The  perversions  are  atrocious  but  comic. 

It  is  probably  the  oldest  Shakespeare  Society  in 
existence.  (I  do  not  approve  of  the  spelling  of  the 
name,  but  we  adopted  it  thirty  years  ago  under  the 
influence  of  Knight,  and  now  keep  it  up  as  a  matter 
of  pride  —  and  by  no  means  as  an  indication  of 
affiliation  with  the  New  Shakspere  Soc.) 

Although  I  have  been  the  Dean  for  twenty  years, 
I  attend  no  meetings  but  these  annual  dinners. 

At  last  "A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream"  is  fin- 
ished and  a  copy  inscribed  to  you  is  tossing  on  the 
Atlantic.  If  you'll  turn  to  where  Puck  says,  "I'll 
lead  them  about  a  Round,"  you'll  see  why  I  was 
inclined  to  back  up  Prof.  Haupt  in  his  "around," 
and  what  is  worse  I  used  you  as  a  shield,  and  from 
that  vantage  I  felt  I  could  defy  the  world. 

Ay  Mi !  that  name  reminds  me  of  what  I  have  been 
gone  and  done.  Can  you  ever  love  me,  can  you 
ever  speak  to  me  after  I  confess  that  that  same 

'  The  bill  of  fare  for  the  Annual  Dinner  of  The  Shakspere  Society 
of  Philadelphia. 


HAUPT'S  CRITICAL  BIBLE         293 

Prof.  Haupt  has  persuaded  me  to  supervise  the 
English  of  his  "Critical  Bible"?  My  main  comfort 
is  that  I  shall  make  a  stouter  fight  for  Jacobean 
English  than  anyone  else  that  he  could  get  on  this 
side  of  the  ocean.  But  what  can  I  do  when  Dr. 
Driver  will  insist,  instead  of  "creeping  things," 
on  ^^ swarming  things.^'  Time  has  bereft  me  of 
much  hair,  else  handfuls  would  come  out.  All  I 
can  do  is  gently  and  firmly  "stare  vestigiis"  to  the 
best  of  my  ability.  And  yet  all  the  blame  will  light 
o'  my  shoulders,  and  there  will  be  no  tears  but  of 
my  shedding.  Ayez  pitie  de  moi  and  let  me  know 
that  I  may  still,  dear  Wright,  sign  myself 
Yours  affectionately 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

Do  send  me  your  photograph  if  you  have  one. 
To  Duncan  B.  Macdonald  ^ 

Wallingford,  1 8  July,  1895 

Dear  Professor  Macdonald:  Indeed,  I  haven't 
the  trans,  of  "Kings"  off  my  hands  —  and  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  it.  Haupt  has  set  his  heart 
on  sending  it  to  press,  with  the  Psalms,  next  winter, 
and  Haupt  must  just  remove  his  heart  and  set  it 
somewhere  else;  —  that  is,  if  he  looks  to  me  to  re- 
vise it.  The  Psalms  will  take  every  minute  of  my 
spare  time  till  September,  and  in  Oct.  I  return  to 
my  own  proper  work. 

^  Professor  of  Semitic  Languages  at  Hartford  Theological  Seminary; 
he  was  an  associate  editor  of  Dr.  Paul  Haupt's  Polychrome  Bible, 
for  which  publication  H.  H.  F.  contributed  the  translation  of  the 
Psalms  and  supervised  the  English  used  in  translation. 


294       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

This  reminds  me  to  ask  you  whether  or  not  the 
trans,  of  these  portions  of  the  Bible  receive  any 
remuneration  from  Haupt  or  his  publishers. 

I  am  embarrassed  in  regard  to  the  "  Psalms  "  and, 
if  you'll  allow  me,  I'll  make  you  my  ghostly  con- 
fessor: —  I  cannot  use  the  trans,  which  Haupt  has 
sent  me.  In  general  'tis  literal  enough  (albeit  I  do 
not  like  such  translations  as  "tabernacle"  for 
Zelte),  but  it  is  humdrum  to  the  last  degree  (I  trust 
you  will  consider  this  strictly  confidential)  and  I  have 
had  to  discard  it  entirely.  Now  I  am  perfectly  will- 
ing that  my  name  shall  in  no  wise  appear  on  the 
trans,  but  let  the  whole  thing  go  as  his  trans.;  this, 
on  the  score  of  honesty  he  may  decline,  and  if  he  has 
been  paid  in  shekels  of  the  tested  gold  may  feel  un- 
comfortably and  if  he  be  in  narrow  circumstances 
be  thusly  much  embarrassed.  Were  it  not  that  the 
work  really  interests  me  and  that  this  is  a  season  of 
enforced  idleness,  away  from  my  library,  I'd  land- 
damn  Haupt  for  leading  me  into  the  mess.  (I 
don't  know  what  "land-damn"  is,  nor  does  any- 
body else,  but  it  sounds  just  right  for  my  feelings.) 

As  to  Prof.  Prince's  translation  of  Cornill,  I 
remember  that  in  it  I  lost  confidence  when  Haupt 
sent  the  original  —  I  sent  a  short  list  of  inaccura- 
cies to  Haupt  and  I  can't  recall  them  —  one  only  I 
remember  where  Gotzen  was  translated  "gods." 
It  seems  to  me  that  in  translating  a  translation,  one 
cannot  be  too  careful  or  too  literal  —  the  smallest 
divergence  from  what  is  already  a  divergence  may 
send  you  very,  very  far  afield  from  the  original 
Hebrew. 


HAUPT'S  CRITICAL  BIBLE         295 

But  I'll  not  inflict  my  tediousness  on  you  any 
longer  but  beg  to  say  that  I  am,  dear  sir 
Yours  very  truly 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Duncan  B.  Macdonald 

JVallingford,  28  July,  1895 
My  dear  Prof.  Macdonald:  Truly  your  sympa- 
thy is  very  soothing  and  grateful  to  my  feelings 
and  I  heartily  impeticos  thy  kind  gratility  —  but 
let  me  at  once  disabuse  your  mind.  No  such  flight 
of  genius  did  my  intelligence  ever  reach  as  to  coin 
the  lovely  word  land-damn.  It  is  the  divine  Wil- 
liams's, in  The  Winter's  Tale. 

You  say  you  have  been  revising  certain  notes  on 
the  Psalms.  Prithee  what  notes  be  there  .^  Are 
there  other  notes  on  the  Psalms  than  those  by 
Wellhausen?  which  translated  by  a  Rev.  Taylor  in 
England,  I  nightly  clasp  to  my  bosom.'' 

Indeed  Haupt's  Bible  is  an  indigesta  moles  to  me, 
curiously  wrought  and  very  fearfully  and  wonder- 
fully to  be  made,  and  I  regard  it  as  Thackeray's 
Pliceman  X  regarded  the  Duke  of  Wellington: 
"with  hor." 

I  have  discarded  the  English  trans,  of  Well- 
hausen utterly.  Mark  you,  he  translates  strauch  — 
briar;  besinnung  —  heart;  schwinden  —  faint; 
Mauer — fence;  freunde — beloved  ones,  and  etc., 
and  etc.  In  German  Grammar  he  is  perfect, 
but  his  English  vocabulary  is  small,  and  not  of 
Elizabethan  best. 


296       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

It  is  his  knowledge  of  Hebrew  which  hurts  him 
and  It  is  my  ignorance  of  It  which  ought  to  help 
me,  as  a  translator  of  the  German.  It  is  one  of  my 
prime  qualifications  that  I  am  absolute-ignorant 
of  the  Hebrew  original. 

My  conviction  grows  daily  deeper  that  the  suc- 
cess of  the  whole  book  (i.e.,  the  English  share)  will 
depend  on  the  Psalms  —  Haupt  must  not  hurry, 
now  at  the  last  minute  —  better  a  little  dalay  than 
a  great  deal  of  heartbreak.  I  shall  finish  in  almost 
three  weeks  —  and  then  there  must  be  endless 
polishing  and  furbishing  —  And  there  must  be  as 
much  as  possible  of  a  stately  rhythm. 

But  ohe!  jam  satis  —  for  you. 

I  remain  yours  faithfully 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Walling  ford,  25  August,  1895 
My  dear  Wright:  I  have  of  late  been  anxious 
about  you.  I  thought  that  I  detected  in  your  last 
letter  a  faint  tinge  of  weariness  of  the  flesh  which 
was  unwonted,  and  which,  I  trust,  was  very  tem- 
porary; still  it  has  left  me  anxious.  So  just  drop 
me  the  merest  line  of  reassurance.  I  know  it's  a 
bore,  but:  —  "e'en  at  the  cost  of  thine,  give  me 
repose." 

As  for  me,  I've  begun  "The  Winter's  Tale"; 
it  forms,  at  least  in  title,  a  pleasing  antithesis  to 
"A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream."  As  I  can  not 
possibly  live  to  complete  all  the  plays,  it  seems  to 


HAUPT'S  CRITICAL  BIBLE         297 

me  best  to  aim  at  finishing  all  the  Comedies,  and  I 
certainly  hope  I  shall  not  live  to  complete  even 
those.  If  you  are  not  weary,  dear  Wright,  I  am. 
A  heart  shattered  like  mine  never  heals.  I  do  so 
deeply  regret  that  you  did  not  see  her  when  we 
were  in  England  —  but  the  shadows  were  even 
dark  then  around  me  and  I  could  not  leave  her  side 
nor  take  her  whither  I  would.  Ah,  well,  though 
time  does  drag,  still  it  passes.  Thank  God  for  that! 
How  fine  and  full  of  meaning  that  phrase  is  in  the 
Bible:  "it  came  to  pass."  Nothing  comes  but  to 
pass.  But  I  must  not  think  in  that  direction  — 
"That  way  madness  lies." 

Good-bye,  do  let  me  hear  from  you. 
Yours  affectionately 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  Duncan  B.  Macdonald 

'  Wallingford,  8  Sept.  1895 

My  dear  Professor  Macdonald:  Many  thanks 
for  the  explanation  for  the  two  sets  of  Notes.  I'll 
now  slightly  modify  a  version  of  one  of  Well- 
hausen's  Psalms  which  circumstances  forced  me 
to  make  —  where  David  exclaims  that  we  are 
curiously  wrought,  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made 
—  I  had  to  substitute,  instead  of  "  we  are,"  Haupt's 
Bible.  It  sounded  strange  in  the  Psalmist's  mouth, 
but  it  was  so  true  that  you'll  forgive  it. 

Well,  I've  done,  for  this  year,  all  my  Bibelwerk. 
(By  the  way,  are  you  not  thankful  that  you  can 
accept  your  faith  from  a  Bible  and  not  from  a  Bcc- 


298       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

bel?)  I  closed  my  books  last  night,  and  this  is  my 
first  day  of  freedom,  and  all  the  time  I  am  writing 
I  am  shouting  'Ban!  'Ban!  Ca-Caliban! 

I  have  finished  Ezekiel,  Samuel,  Daniel,  Hosea, 
and  The  Psalms  —  and  Deuteronomy.  The  Psalms 
have  greatly  interested  me.  Some  of  course  would 
not  lend  themselves  to  any  sort  of  a  rhythmical 
treatment  —  but  in  a  large  majority  there  were 
lines  here  and  there  which  would  fall  into  cadence 
—  enough  to  give  the  impression  that  the  original 
was  rhythmical  poetry  —  which  I  take  it  is  all-suffi- 
cient. If  they  were  too  rhythmical,  the  fidelity  of 
the  translation  would  be  questioned.  I  have  a  mind 
to  copy  off  for  you  part  of  the  77th  which  quite 
charmed  me  last  eve'g  when  I  was  looking  them 
over.  It  Is  exceedingly  faithful  to  Wellhausen's 
German,  not  a  word  is  added.  Pray  compare  it 
with  the  Authorised  Version,  and  let  me  know  what 
you  think  of  it  —  whether  the  public  will  stand 
such  a  version.  But  Haupt  may  prefer  Dr.  Tay- 
lor's translation  wherein  there  is  no  semblance  of 
cadence  —  and  I  shall  yield  instantly.  I  have 
had  enough  pleasure  in  the  work  and  I  haven't  a 
thought  beyond.  I  turned  not  a  little  of  Isaiah 
into  Rhythm  and  I  am  curious  to  know  whether  or 
not  Cheyne  will  accept. 

But  enough  of  myself.   I  meant  merely  to  thank 
you  for  clearing  up  for  me  the  mystery  of  the  two- 
fold notes,  and  to  assure  you  that  I  am 
Yours  cordially 

Horace  Howard  Furness 


HAUPT'S  CRITICAL  BIBLE  299 

And  I  wanted  to  tell  you  how  I  laughed  over 
your  letter  and  its  "English  of  Commerce."  Haupt 
(from  whom  I  have  had  three  or  four  letters)  sails 
on  the  1 2th  of  this  month. 

Psalm  lxxvii 

1.  With  my  voice  I  cried  unto  God  — 

with  my  voice  unto  God  — 
I  hoped  he  would  hear  me! 

2.  In  the  hour  of  my  need  I  turned  to  the  Lord, 

my  hand  was  stretched  out,  in  the  night,  without  ceas- 
ing, — 
but  my  soul  would  allow  itself  no  consolation. 

3.  I  cried  unto  my  God,  and  I  wailed, 

I  prayed,  but  my  soul  was  enveloped  in  night. 

4.  My  eyelids  thou  heldest  fast  closed, 

I  was  filled  with  unrest,  and  never  a  word  could  I  speak. 

5.  I  pictured  old  times  to  myself,  — 

the  years  that  have  long  ago  sped. 

6.  I  remembered  my  harp,  and  I  prayed  from  my  heart,  in 

the  night, 
but  my  soul  [fell  into  anguishl 

7.  Will  then  the  Lord  reject  me  forever? 

and  never  again  show  himself  pleased.? 

8.  Has  then  his  goodness  ended  forever? 

and  his  faithfulness,  —  is  it  clean  gone  for  all  time  to 
come  ? 

9.  Has  he  forgotten  again  to  be  gracious? 

has  he  withdrawn  his  pity,  in  wrath? 
10.  And  I  said:  —  "lol  this  is  my  anguish, 

the  right  hand  of  God  is  no  longer  the  same!" 

To  S.  Weir  Mitchell 

Wallingford,  23  September,  1895 

Dearest  Mitchell:  Don't  ask  me  why  actors  do 
this,  that,  or  'tother.  They  are  the  most  conser- 
vative folk  alive.  The  thing  that  hath  been  is  that 


300       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

which  It  shall  be.  And  unless  an  unequivocal  suc- 
cess greets  an  Innovation,  it  Is  sneered  into  noth- 
ingness. 

E.  S.  Willard  did  act  the  Fencing  Scene  [In  Ham- 
let] with  rapier  and  dagger,  preparing  himself  there- 
for with  many  and  laborious  lessons  under  the  best 
teacher  in  London  —  so  that  his  performance  was 
an  artistic  sight  worth  seeing,  —  and  the  critics 
howled  him  down. 

And  the  critics  and  the  actors  have  a  perfectly 
good  reason;  they  are  entirely  right  in  the  use  of 
foils,  and  the  whole  question  is  merely  an  instance 
added  to  the  many  others  wherewith  the  play  of 
Hamlet  is  befogged  —  all  along  of  Shakespeare's 
writing  over  an  old  play.  Of  the  skeleton  which  he 
clothed  with  lovely  flesh  and  bluest  veins,  he  left 
some  of  the  old  ribs  sticking  out.  When  Osric 
brings  the  challenge  to  Hamlet,  he  distinctly  says 
that  the  weapons  of  Laertes  are  the  rapier  and 
dagger.  At  the  match  itself,  the  talk  is  all  of  foils, 
and  the  rapier  and  dagger  are  never  mentioned. 
This  discrepancy,  dating  from  the  old  play,  Shake- 
speare allowed  to  remain  —  What  cared  he.^*  and 
what  care  we  when  subject  is  fidelibus  oculis.?  As 
to  the  change  of  weapons,  you'll  find  several  va- 
rieties duly  recorded  in  the  second  volume  of  the 
"ad  valorem"  Shakespeare.  (Horace  Scudder 
wrote  to  me  that  at  the  Boston  Pub.  Lib.  a  man 
asked  for  *'an  ad  valorem  Ophelia"  and  the  highly 
intelligent  attendant  gave  him  my  Hamlet^  which 
proved  correct.) 


DEATH  OF  W.  H.  FURNESS  301 

I  have  intended  fifty  times  to  send  you  my 
congratulations  on  your  foreign  honour^  —  most 
richly  deserved.  The  air  should  hurtle  with  them. 
The  ink  wherein  I  send  my  love  to  you  and  to 
the  Empress  of  your  heart  is  "Stafford's  Writing 
Fluid"  —  no  drop  today  has  been  put  to  better 
use. 

Yours  ever 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

The  Reverend  William  Henry  Furness  died  on 
January  30,  1896,  at  the  age  of  ninety-four.  Letters 
of  sympathy  came  from  all  parts  of  the  world ;  none 
more  tender  in  its  fellow  feeling  than  that  from 
Norton.   Furness's  answer  to  this  letter  was: 

To  Charles  Eliot  Norton 

fFalltngford,  5  February,  1896 

Dearest  Norton:  Take  my  deep  thanks  for  your 
sympathy.  You  do  all  that  man  can  do  for  man  at 
such  times.  No  mortal  lips  can  utter  a  word  of  con- 
solation —  there  is  no  consolation.  Nor  do  we 
need  any.  "Nothing  is  here  for  tears,  nothing  to 
wail  or  knock  the  breast."  'Tis  not  when  "the  ripe 
fruit  falls  richly  to  the  ground  "  that  we  mourn,  but 
when  "the  spring  flowers  are  taken,"  then  we  have 
a  right  to  be  rebellious,  and  faith  in  the  goodness 
of  a  God  becomes  stubble. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  peaceful  or 
more  gentle  than  the  way  in  which  my  father's 

'  The  degree  of  LL.D.  had  recently  been  conferred  on  Dr.  Mitchell 
by  Edinburgh  University. 


302       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

sturdy  grasp  on  life  was  loosened.  He  never  fell 
asleep  so  softly. 

And  how  my  memory  is  stored  with  looks,  and 
tones,  and  scenes,  and  words  —  these  were  my 
father,  and  these  I  keep  while  I  live. 

Thus  it  is,  I  doubt  not,  with  you,  and  so  it  will 
be  with,  dear  Norton, 

Yours  affectionately  and  gratefully 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

JVallingford,  19  March,  1 896 

My  dear  Wright:  'Tis  with  shame  and  confu- 
sion of  face  that  I  begin  this  note.  Grant  White 
once  wrote  that  he  hailed  my  letters  with  pleasure 
in  that  I  "never  asked  a  favour."  Alack!  alack, 
you'll  never  re-echo  his  remark  after  the  receipt  of 
this. 

I  once  told  you,  I  believe,  that  in  an  evil  hour  I 
consented  to  supervise  the  English  of  the  new 
translation  of  the  Bible  which  Dr.  Haupt  is  to  issue. 

Well,  it  has  fallen  to  my  unhappy  lot  to  trans- 
late from  the  German  Wellhausen's  translations  of 
the  Psalms. 

Before  I  began  my  Editorial  supervision,  cer- 
tain changes  had  been  adopted  and  voluminous 
translations  made  accordingly,  such  as  discarding 
the  3rd  pers.  sing,  in  eth^  the  substitution  of  "/t^ 
who^'  for  "A<?  that^^  &c.,  so  that  I  had  to  follow 
precedents. 

For  the  rest,  all  I  could  do  was  to  follow  slavishly 


WELLHAUSEN'S  PSALMS  303 

the  German  and  to  see  to  It  that  no  word  or  phrase 
be  used  which  is  not  good  EngHsh.  To  ensure  this 
I  have  admitted  no  word  which  is  not  found  in  the 
A. v.,  the  R.V.,  or  in  Shakespeare.  Throughout 
the  Psalms,  this  rule  has  been  violated  but  twelve 
times,  e.g.,  in  "tendril,"  "range"  (of  mountains)  &c. 

And  I  have  tried  to  give  such  an  intimation  of 
cadence  (but  never  at  the  expense  of  the  meaning) 
as  would  suggest  that  the  original  was  chanted  or 
sung. 

Now  for  my  shame;  by  this  same  Post  I  send 
you  the  proof-sheets  of  the  first  Book  of  Psalms. 
Will  you,  for  my  sake,  look  them  over  and  jot  in 
the  margin  any  suggestions  which  may  occur  to 
you.? 

Bear  in  mind  that  for  the  meaning  Wellhausen 
is  responsible;  my  share  is  solely  the  form  of  ex- 
pression. 

The  Notes  are  translated  by  a  countryman  of 
yours,  a  Rev.  Dr.  Taylor.  In  translating,  I  used 
the  German,  and  a  glance  at  this  translation  makes 
me  fear  some  serious  editorial  work. 

Don't  let  this  bore  you  too  much.  In  one  of  your 
letters  you  speak  of  having  more  leisure  than  of 
yore  —  this    emboldens    me.     And    yet    Cavour, 
you  remember,  said  that  only  the  busiest  men  had    I 
plenty  of  time. 

However,  bore  or  no  bore,  time  or  no  time,  I 
remain,  dear  Wright, 

Yours  affectionately 

Horace  Howard  Furness 


304       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

To  Charles  Eliot  Norton 

Wallingford,  29  March,  1896 

Dearest  Norton,  —  when  you  put  your  head  on 
the  pillow  this  night  you  can  sleep  the  sleep  of  the 
just  and  the  generous.  The  proofs  have  reached 
me,  and  while  all  your  suggestions  are  valuable, 
some  are  inestimable.  Of  all  things  you  have  done 
the  very  thing  which  I  most  wanted,  but  when  I 
see  the  minute  care  with  which  you  read  every  line, 
I  am  filled  with  remorse  over  the  demand  on  your 
time  which  I  made.  Do  forgive  and  I  will  not 
forget. 

It  greatly  pleases  me  that  you  think  the  work 
was  "well  worth  doing."  It  happened  on  a  time 
when  I  was  building  a  new  Library  here,  and  there 
was  no  rest  anywhere  for  a  Shakespearean  foot  — 
so  I  fell  to  this,  which  required  but  half  a  dozen 
books  and  a  table.  I  sent  a  set  of  these  proofs  to 
my  dear  blessed  Master,  Child,  but,  I  think,  he 
was  a  little  disgusted  with  them  —  the  new  might 
be  good,  but  I  imagine  he  thought  the  old  were 
better.  And  It  does  seem  like  sacrilege  to  alter  a 
syllable  of  the  23d  Psalm. 

You  see,  I  was  handicapped  by  the  two  necessi- 
ties: a  slavish  adherence  to  the  German,  and  of 
giving  line  for  line  with  the  Hebrew.  This  latter 
bars  me  from  transposing  words  from  one  line  to 
another,  as  you  suggested  in  one  or  two  places, 
where  it  would  be  a  great  improvement. 

I'm  glad  you  rebel  against  "inoculate."  I  shall 
join  you.   I  am  afraid,  however,  that  'tis  the  very 


THE  PSALMS  305 

word  needed.  I  shall  nevertheless  change  it,  if  for 
no  other  reason  than  to  stamp  even  feebly  on  the 
attempt  of  recent  years  to  prove  from  this  very 
passage  the  antiquity  of  that  disgraceful  disease  to 
which  we  have  so  many  allusions  in  Shakespeare. 

You  use  a  happy  phrase  in  styling  the  Psalms 
"provincial  and  barbaric";  it  might  be  added  that 
there  is  a  wearisome  iteration  withal. 

I  want  you  to  see  Cheyne's  Isaiah.  It  will  ap- 
pear at  the  same  time  as  the  Psalms.  It  is  very 
grand. 

Again,  heartiest  of  thanks,  dear  Norton,  from 
Yours  affectionately 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Wallingford,  ^rd  May,  1896 

Dearest  Wright:  How  can  I  adequately  thank 
you  for  the  time,  the  pains,  and  the  labour  you 
have  bestowed  on  me!  And  when  I  bethink  me 
that  the  time  was  taken  from  your  vacation  I  feel 
like  the  scum  of  the  earth.  Not  a  suggestion  have 
you  made  that  is  not  most  valuable  to  me;  I  have 
pondered  long  over  your  faintest  "tick."  That  the 
word  "grand"  is  not  heard  as  often  here  as  with 
you  is  probably  the  reason  why  you  do  not  take 
me  with  you  in  your  antipathy  to  it.  Still  'tis  hack- 
neyed enough  here  to  be  repulsive,  and  I  am  more 
than  glad  of  the  excuse  for  substituting  "glorious" 
of  the  Prayer  Book  version. 

For  "inoculated"   (which  I  regretted  an  hour 


3o6       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

after  the  proofs  had  left  me)  I  have  substituted 
*' implanted"  or  "has  its  course  in  his  veins." 

But  every  one  of  your  hints  is  golden. 

Your  letter  came  while  I  was  a  thousand  miles 
away  in  Florida,  on  a  fishing  trip  —  the  very  first 
vacation  I  had  taken  winter  or  summer,  night  or 
day,  for  thirteen  years;  my  children  insisted  upon 
it.  I  really  did  have,  unexpectedly,  a  grand  time. 
The  game  was  tarpons,  a  fish  six  feet  long,  weigh- 
ing upwards  of  two  hundred  pounds.  To  catch 
these  with  a  rod  and  reel  is  something  of  a  feat  — 
and  I  didn't  catch  any.  I  caught,  however,  lots  of 
other  fish,  among  them  ten  or  fifteen  sharks  — 
horrible  creatures,  that  turn  their  eyes  and  look  at 
you  full  of  malignity,  when  the  gaff  hauls  them  up 
to  the  side  of  the  boat.  Ah,  but  the  beauty  of  the 
scene,  the  soft,  caressing  air,  the  mangrove  islands 
with  palms  and  tropical  foliage,  the  cormorants 
and  pelicans  flying  hither  and  thither,  and  high  up 
in  heaven  the  vultures  sailing  without  a  movement 
of  the  wings  —  it  was  too  lovely.  As  I  lay  back  in 
my  boat,  smoking  my  pipe,  and  overcome  by  the 
Southern  languor,  I  thought  over  all  my  frienda 
and  I  wondered  how  you  would  treat  my  intrud- 
ing proofs.  I  wasn't  prepared  for  the  thoughtful 
care  you  bestowed  on  them  and  my  gratitude  is 
correspondingly  heightened. 

Is  there  a  man  on  earth  who  knows  as  well  as 
you  the  frightful  nature  of  the  task  I  have  under- 
taken.'* Perhaps  I  may  die  before  it  is  finished. 
There's  comfort  yet.    And  'tis  a  labour  of  love! 


THE  PASTON  LETTERS  307 

However,  come  what  may,  I  am  infinitely  grateful 
to  you,  and  rejoicingly  sign  myself 
Yours  affectionately 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  W.  /.  Rolje 

Wallingford,  8  November,  1896 
My  dear  boy:  I  am  glad  to  know  that  any  one 
hereabout  is  reading  that  fascinating  book,  "The 
Paston  Letters"  with  which  when  I  read  it,  as  I  do 
frequently,  there  is  always  associated  a  guilty  feel- 
ing that  I  have  no  right  to  be  prying  so  curiously 
into  the  private  affairs  of  fellow  mortals. 

Any  advanced  studies  carried  on  by  young 
women  of  the  higher  classes  "in  Shakespeare's 
time"  were  pursued,  I  imagine,  under  tutors  such 
as  Roger  Ascham  or  Lady  Jane  Grey's  Master 
Elmer.  At  an  earlier  age,  and  in  the  lower  classes, 
both  boys  and  girls  went  together  to  the  grammar 
schools.  At  least,  so  I  infer  —  And  to  this  school 
must  the  friendship  of  Helena  and  Hermia  be  re- 
ferred. There  is  a  statute  of  Henry  the  Eighth  (I 
think)  in  which  reference  is  made  to  schools  for 
boys  and  girls,  and  you'll  find  it  where  I  remember 
to  have  seen  it  in  Furnivall's  "Forewords"  (d — n 
that  word!)  to  his  "Babees  Book"  published  by 
the  Early  Eng.  Text  Soc.  At  any  rate  there  is 
where  I  should  go  to  look  up  the  subject.  You 
might  look  in  Ascham's  "Scholemaster,"  reprinted 
by  Arber.  Though  I  doubt  if  you'll  find  anything 
there.    I  know  the  book  pretty  thoroughly  and  I 


3o8       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

cannot  recall  anything  to  the  point.    Very  sorry  I 
can't  give  you  any  better  help. 

As  to  reprinting  what  I  said  to  you  about  your 
"Shakespeare  the  Boy"  —  do  it  and  thrice  wel- 
come if  it  will  do  you  any  good.  I  am  always  sin- 
cere in  what  I  say  and  am  perfectly  willing  any- 
body should  hear  it  who  cares  to  listen.  What  I 
wrote  was  intended  only  for  your  private  reading 
and  I  think  'twould  do  no  harm  so  to  say.  The 
eulogium  is  thereby  removed  from  the  realm  of 
cut-and-dried  stock  praise,  which  carries  no  more 
meaning  or  weight  to  me  than  the  wind  whistling 
through  the  keyhole. 

I  am  not  at  work  on  "Julius  Caesar,"  but  "The 
Winter's  Tale,"  and  advance  very  slowly.  This 
wretched  new  translation  of  The  Bible  has  con- 
sumed an  enormous  amount  of  my  time;  I  say 
"wretched"  only  because  it  keeps  me  from  Shake- 
speare —  it  is  in  itself  extremely  interesting.  How- 
ever, my  heaviest  work,  The  Psalms,  is  over.  This 
week  I  read  the  revise  for  the  last  time.  Then 
comes  "Judges."  Then  the  three  parts:  Isaiah  (by 
Dr.  Cheyne  of  Oxford),  The  Psalms  (by  Wellhau- 
sen  and  by  me  translated  from  the  German),  and 
Judges  (by  Prof,  Moore  of  Andover),  will  be  pub- 
lished —  possibly  in  January.  So  you  see  I  am 
pretty  well  run  to  earth,  i.e.,  the  grave.  Neverthe- 
less, I  am  always,  with  kind  remembrances  to 
Mrs.  Rolfe, 

Yours 

H.  H.  F. 


LETTER  FROM  LADY  MARTIN     309 

To  his  Sister  ^ 

Wallingford,  22  November,  '96 
...  I  HAD  a  letter  yesterday  from  Aldis  Wright,  full 
of  regret  that  he  had  missed  you,  and  of  hope  that 
you  would  let  him  know  when  you  returned  again 
to  England.  He  is  a  dear  fellow;  he  thanked  me  so 
tenderly  for  the  photogravure  of  our  father  which 
I  sent  him.  He  said  he  should  keep  it  with  a  photo- 
graph I  sent  him  in  '83.  "They  belong  to  my  hfe 
and  will  remain  a  part  of  it  to  the  end." 

I'm  sorry  you  missed  Lady  Martin ;  ^  from  her  too 
I  had  an  affectionate  letter  (written  before  she 
knew  of  your  presence  in  London)  wherein  she 
told  me  of  the  Victorian  Order  lately  conferred  on 
her  husband.  It  is  an  order  created  by  the  Queen 
&  given  by  her  only  to  her  personal  friends  —  She 
had  found  out  Sir  Theodore's  birthday  and  sent  it 
as  a  present  on  that  day  with  a  letter  of  thanks  for 
what  he  had  done  for  her  —  kind,  and  graceful, 
was  it  not? 

On  Wednesday  I  went  to  New  York,  accompa- 
nied by  Shylock  and  Portia.  The  Reading  there  for 
discomfort  and  annoyance  eclipsed  that  at  Bryn 
Mawr  which  has  hitherto  held  a  bad  preeminence. 
At  Dr.  Thomas's,  you  remember,  I  sat  between 
two  parlors  and  had  to  exhort  once  more  unto  the 

*  Mrs.  Wister  was  at  this  time  travelling  abroad  with  her  grand- 
daughter. 

*  Helena  Faucit,  the  noted  Shakespearean  actress,  and  author  of 
Some  of  Shakespeare's  Female  Characters.  She  was  the  wife  of  Sir 
Theodore  Martin,  known  chiefly  for  his  Life  of  the  Prince  Consort. 
They  were  both  old  and  valued  friends  of  H.  H.  F.'s, 


310       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

breach  the  door  jamb  within  a  foot  or  two  of  my 
nose  and  had  to  pray  to  It  as  the  God  of  Battles. 

At  Columbia  College,  the  room,  the  largest  in 
the  Buildings,  was  crammed  to  suffocation,  and 
stifling  hot.  The  aisles  were  filled  with  women  who 
stood  the  whole  two  long  hours,  and  they  swarmed 
all  about  my  feet  on  the  platform.  I  do  hate  to 
have  any  one  near  me  when  I  read.  Then  the 
table  was  a  large  library  table,  behind  which  I 
felt  like  a  pygmy,  and  the  piano  stool  was  so  ram- 
shackle that  I  expected  every  instant  it  would  fall 
to  pieces  &  leave  me  impaled  on  the  screw.  Add  to 
all  this,  the  audience  were  stocks  and  stones.  For 
an  hour  and  a  half  I  beat  against  flints.  Not  until 
the  last  half-hour  did  they  become  human  beings. 
Ugh,  I  don't  like  to  think  of  it  at  all.  Yet  'tis 
healthy  every  now  and  then  to  have  a  downright, 
good  snub.  .  .  . 

To  his  Sister 

Walling  ford,  13  Dec.  '96 
Well,  Willie  ^  is  fairly  home,  and  his  long,  long  ab- 
sence is  now  but  as  a  watch  In  the  night.  He  Is 
the  same  merryhearted,  affectionate,  caressing 
fellow  that  he  went  away.  Of  course  he  dined  here 
at  home,  the  day  he  arrived,  but  yesterday  was  the 
first  he  has  dined  here  with  me  since  then.  And  we 
did  talk.  It  makes  me  shudder  from  head  to  heel 
to  think  of  the  hair-breadth  escapes  from  death 
which  he  has  gone  through.    Those  Dyaks  among 

^  William  Henry  Furness,  3rd,  from  his  first  trip  to  Borneo. 


W.  H.  F.,  3D,  IN  BORNEO  311 

whom  he  lived  are  perfervld  in  their  zeal  for  col- 
lecting heads.  And  for  one  whole  night,  it  was  the 
staunchness  of  one  man  alone  which  kept  the 
savages  from  adding  Willie's  head  to  their  collec- 
tion. He  was  quite  aware  of  his  danger,  and, 
although  he  knew  that  resistance  against  four  hun- 
dred armed,  infuriated  savages  would  be  utterly 
hopeless,  he  resolved  to  sell  his  life  as  dearly  as 
possible,  and  kept  his  revolver  ready  —  His  re- 
turn is  really  an  event.  Only  two  other  Americans 
have  ever  penetrated  Borneo  at  all,  and  none  as 
far  as  Willie  has  gone.  He  evidently  feels  that  his 
present  life-work  is  to  write  and  compile  a  thorough 
account  of  the  island.  Next  Friday  he  is  to  read 
a  paper  before  the  Philosophical  Society,  and  as 
soon  as  his  collections  arrive  he  is  to  hold  a  public 
Reception  at  the  University  and  describe  the  vari- 
ous implements  of  Bornean  life,  domestic  and  pub- 
lic. .  .  .  But  what  do  you  think  he  has  planned,  not 
only  pl.inned  but  promised."*  To  return  to  Borneo 
next  August!  I  acquiesce,  if  so  it  must  be.  His  life 
is  before  him.  Mine  is  ended.  He  must  live  from 
step  to  step,  and  this  thorough  book  on  Borneo  is, 
in  his  eyes,  the  next  obligatory  step.  Pepper  has 
been  full  of  enthusiasm  over  his  return  and  wishes 
to  thrust  him  into  the  forefront  of  public  atten- 
tion. .  .  . 

But  here  Is  Carrie  &  Horace  come  to  dinner, 
and  here,  too,  ts  the  end  of  my  paper  —  so  I  must 
bid  a  hasty  farewell.  .  .  . 

Yours  always 

H.  H.  F. 


312       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  17  Jan.,  '97 

.  .  .  On  Monday  I  went  to  town  as  is  my  wont;  on 
Thursday  eve'g  I  went  again.  With  these  two  ex- 
ceptions, I  haven't  stirred  from  the  house,  further 
than  to  the  Orchids.  .  .  . 

I  was  up  to  my  eyes  in  proof-sheets.  Two  days 
from  ten  to  4.30  I  worked  over  them  with  Horace 
Jayne  hammering  out  thin  anatomical  definitions  as 
appHed  to  "the  cat"  ^  —  Two  days  over  "Judges" 
—  Both  were  very  pleasant  and  kept  the  mind  on 
the  alert.  "Judges"  I  do  greatly  admire  when  told 
in  simple,  everyday  language.  The  stories  are  ex- 
tremely attractive  and  for  magic  pathos  and  bar- 
baric horror  'twould  be  hard  to  match  "The  Out- 
rage of  Gibeah,"  in  the  19th  Chap.  Speaking  of 
tragedy,  I'm  afraid  that  there's  a  comi-tragedy 
preparing  in  the  financial  event  of  this  same  "New 
Bible."  .  .  . 

You  know  the  sudden  outburst  of  insane  jeal- 
ousy in  Leontes,  in  A  JVinter^s  Tale,  has  been 
considered  monstrous,  and,  though  allowable  in 
fiction,  really  untrue  to  nature.  Anxious  to  find 
authentic  parallel  cases  in  real  Hfe  I  wrote  to  Weir 
Mitchell  for  any  within  his  knowledge  or  experi- 
ence. I  rehearsed  the  exact  plot  of  A  Wint.  Tale, 
prefacing  the  account  with  the  remark  that  he  and 
I  both  knew  well  the  parties.  I  never  imagined 
that  he  would  not  detect  at  once  my  object,  which 

*  For  The  Anatomy  of  the  Cat,  by  Horace  Jayne;  published,  1898, 
by  J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co. 


THE  JEALOUSY  OF  LEONTES       313 

was  simply  to  divest  the  drama  of  all  distracting 
elements  &  present  the  facts  as  though  in  a  medi- 
cal report.  He  replied: — "The  sad  case  of  which 
you  write  is  by  no  means  unique  (!).  I  have  known 
several,  and  one  especially  is  perfectly  clear  in  all 
its  details  to  my  mind  now.  (This  is  because  I 
said  that  he  &  I  knew  the  parties.)  This  condi- 
tion sometimes  comes  to  women  as  well  as  men 
and  it  brings  with  it  an  element  of  sad  regret  which 
may  or  may  not  be  emphasized  by  death."  I  did 
not  reply.  How  could  I?  Vox  faucibus  haesit.  I 
then  duplicated  my  note  and  sent  it  to  Horatio 
Wood,  the  eminent  authority  on  Diseases  of  the 
Mind.  He  answered  at  great  length  with  the  de- 
tails of  a  case  of  simple  though  extreme  jealousy  & 
then  asked  if  I  would  "confidentially  give  him  the 
names  of  my  friends."  Well,  well,  well.  And  I'm 
in  a  fix.  I  shall  be  accused  of  laying  a  trap  for  my 
friends.  But  could  not  a  tiny  bit  of  mother  wit 
come  to  the  aid  of  Weir  and  of  Wood,  leading 
them  to  suspect  a  Shakespearean  problem  under 
my  very  thin  disguise.  .  .  . 

Thursday  night  I  returned  at  midnight  with 
Haupt,  who  had  been  to  the  Oriental  Club  and 
then  we  fell  to  work  on  Judges.  I  was  drug  out  by 
the  Reading,  refreshed  by  the  Penn  Club,  and 
tired  out  when  I  reached  home.  —  Nathless,  I 
worked  away  with  Haupt  and  got  to  bed  at  twenty- 
five  minutes  of  four  a.m.  A  pretty  good  day's 
work  for  an  old  man  of  64.  But  I  must  stop,  and 
'tis  hard.    'Tis  indescribable  the  pleasure  in  thus 


314       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

gabbling  to  you,  dear.  Give  my  dear  love  to  little 
Annis. 

Your  most  loving  old  brother 

H.  H.  F. 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  24  Jan.  '97 

Dearest  Sister  o'  mine:  ...  A  student's  life  has 
its  manifest  charms,  but  it  builds  many  a  barrier 
to  what  is  charming  in  life.  No  book  can  I  read  un- 
connected with  the  Bible  or  Shakespeare  but  a 
most  guilty  feeling  creeps  over  me,  and  I  feel  like  a 
deserter  from  my  post.  It  must  be  confessed  that 
those  two  books  cover  an  almost  boundless  ex- 
panse, but  there  are  fair  flowers  growing  over  the 
border  &  I'd  like  to  disport  among  them  at  times. 
At  one  stage  of  my  work  over  any  of  Shakespeare's 
plays  I  have  a  little  legitimate  excuse  for  wander- 
ing and  half  playing  truant.  It  is  when  I  am  search- 
ing the  lives  of  actors  and  actresses  for  stray  hints 
of  interpretation.  Such  a  stage  in  The  Winter's 
Tale  I  have  reached  now,  and,  last  evening,  I  had 
no  feeling  of  guilt  when  I  durchblattert  (the  only 
German  word  I  ever  felt  the  need  of)  Macready's 
Life  and  Mrs.  Kemble's  "Records."  I  found  noth- 
ing whatsoever  to  my  purpose,  but  was  deeply  in- 
terested in  the  contrasted  characters  of  the  two 
writers.  Macready  evidently,  in  writing  his  volu- 
minous Journal,  thought  that  posterity  would 
take  him  at  his  own  valuation,  strangely  unmind- 
ful that  others  equally  vivacious  might  undo  all  his 


MACREADY'S  SELFISHNESS        315 

work.  Could  he  have  surmised,  think  you^  that 
all  his  abject  prayers  to  God,  so  carefully  written 
out  in  his  Journal,  would  have  availed  nothing, 
however  they  may  have  affected  the  Throne  of 
Grace,  in  averting  the  verdict  of  his  fellow  men 
that  he  was  an  utterly  selfish  cowardly  bully?  I 
must  ask  Lady  Martin  about  him.  Only  once  does 
she  refer  to  his  contemptibly  selfish  treatment  of 
fellow  actors.  To  Mrs.  Kemble,  when  she  acted 
with  him,  he  was  a  perfect  terror.  He  broke  her 
little  finger,  and  before  it  was  healed  hurt  it  again, 
in  acting,  so  that  Mrs.  Kemble  nearly  fainted,  and 
his  only  apology  was  that  she  should  have  worn  it 
in  splints.  I  remember  how  tender  and  sympa- 
thetic were  Edwin  Booth's  apologies  when  once  in 
Macbeth  his  crown  struck  Mad.  Ristori's  lip.  I 
was  present,  and  the  instant  the  scene  was  over, 
Booth  rushed  to  Mad.  Ristori  and  took  her  hand 
with  the  most  contrite  regrets  for  the  accident  — 
her  manner  was  most  sweet  and  gracious  (it  was 
rather  a  hard  knock),  and  filled  me  with  more 
admiration  for  her  than  ever  her  acting  on  the 
stage.  .  .  • 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  7  March,  '97 

.  .  .  Well,  dear,  the  Boston  trip  is  over  and  an 
immense  burthing  off  me  mind.  Tuesday  was  the 
evening  for  Cambridge.  I  left  the  Parker  House 
at  precisely  7.15  in  a  coupe  which  the  driver  as- 
sured me  would  reach  Sanders  Theatre  in  half  an 


3i6       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

hour.  I  sat  quietly  thinking  of  my  opening  re- 
marks, &c.,  as  is  my  wont  and  never  thought  of 
the  flight  of  time  —  at  last  I  aroused  myself  to  the 
fact  that  the  horse  had  been  very  balky  &  that  we 
were  going  very  slowly  through  Cambridgeport  — 
I  looked  at  my  watch  &  to  my  infinite  horror  found 
that  it  was  five  minutes  before  eight!  I  was 
paralysed.  The  rest  of  the  journey  I  spent  with  my 
head  out  of  the  window  swearing  &  screaming  to 
the  driver  to  beat  up  his  horse.  'Twas  a  nightmare! 
At  last  we  reached  Sanders  Theatre  four  minutes 
after  eight  —  my  first  experience  in  unpunctuality 
—  of  course  I  had  to  rush  to  the  stage  in  anything 
but  a  placid  mood.  The  Theatre  was  crowded  and 
the  calm  came  over  me  as  it  always  does  when  I  face 
an  audience.  I  alluded  to  the  death  of  Professor 
Child  and  asked  the  audience  to  sit  still  in  hushed 
repose  for  a  minute  or  two  out  of  respect  for  his 
memory.  The  Reading  was  quite  as  successful,  I 
think,  as  that  of  Henry  F  of  the  previous  year. 
The  song  of  Autolycus,  "When  daffodils  begin  to 
peer,"  &c  I  sang  to  the  tune  of  "On  thy  soft  bosom, 
gentle  lake,"  and  the  applause  was  so  prolonged 
that  I  think  they  wanted  it  repeated,  but  I  thought 
it  better  to  disregard  the  appeal.  Indeed,  "  The 
Winter^ s  Tale'*''  is  excellent  for  a  public  Reading; 
the  first  half  is  most  tragic  and  the  last  half  is  most 
exquisite  comedy.  Agnes  [Irwin]  and  Mrs.  Agassiz 
sat  in  the  same  seats  as  last  year,  but  oh,  Nannie 
Nannie,  how  I  missed  you!  The  shadow  of  your 
absence  hung  over  every  hour  of  my  Boston  trip. 


READING  TRIP  TO  BOSTON        317 

My  room  was  on  the  same  floor,  at  the  Parker 
House,  which  we  occupied  last  year,  and  the  same 
broadfaced,  redhaired  chambermaid  had  charge  of 
it,  and  recognized  me  instantly  and  came  forward 
with  extended  hand  and  asked  after  you.  The 
elevator  boy,  the  dame  du  comptoir,  the  head 
waiter  —  all  asked  after  you  by  name.  I  basked  in 
your  reflected  glory,  although  it  added  to  my  gloom. 

On  Wednesday,  I  went  to  Milton,  but  with  a 
heavy  heart,  —  'Twas  A  Mid.  Nights  Dream^  and 
how  could  I  sing  Zion's  song  in  a  strange  land  — 
where  you  were  not  by  my  side.''  I  could  not  shake 
off  my  loneliness,  and  I  didn't  read  it  well.  .  .  . 

On  Friday,  me  and  Cleopatra  went  to  Agnes, 
where  we  gathered  the  same  little  choice  circle  of 
last  year.  Norton,  and  Jim  Thayer  (who  has  been 
to  every  one  of  my  readings  this  year)  &  Charles 
Eliot,  his  first  outing  after  the  grip.  Mrs.  Eliot 
said  she  remonstrated  with  him  for  venturing  forth, 
but  he  would  come.  Indeed  he  was  most  cordial. 
Norton  said  I  brought  the  tears  to  all  their  eyes, 
and  verily  gloom  did  for  a  few  minutes  seem  to 
hang  over  them,  impossible  to  lift,  at  the  close.  I 
left  almost  immediately.  Agnes  could  find  time 
only  to  say,  "Horace,  it  was  splendid!'' 

To  his  Sister 

fVallingford,  Easter  Sunday 

1 8  April,  '97 

.  .  .  With  the  exception  of  Monday  &  Saturday  the 
entire  week  has  been  spent  here  at  my  table.  Some 


3i8       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

days  I  did  not  put  my  nose  out  of  doors,  though  all 
Springtime,  gay  with  its  tulips  and  crown  impe- 
rials, was  calling  and  beckoning  to  me.  On  the  25 
of  March  I  resolved  that  "A  Winter's  Tale"  should 
be  completed  in  three  months.  To  do  this  a  cer- 
tain number  of  pages  must  be  done  every  day.  It 
is  an  impossible  task  and  I  knew  it  when  I  made  the 
resolution.  But,  don't  you  see,  if  you  aim  high 
you'll  be  more  likely  to  reach  a  good  height,  than 
if  you  aim  low.  Where  so  much  of  my  work  is 
drudgery  I  have  to  resort  to  all  kinds  of  fictitious 
excitements.  And  so  I  find  great  excitement  in 
sudden  obstacles,  such  as  the  sudden  development 
of  a  puzzling  phrase  where  I  had  expected  unob- 
structed progress.  Now  last  evening  I  was  two  mor- 
tal hours  over,  —  "Do  you  think  I  am  so  muddy, 
so  unsettled,  To  appoint  myself  in  this  vexation?" 
where  I  had  to  dissent  from  every  editor  who  has 
noticed  the  passage.  All  say  it  means  to  dress,  to 
equip  myself,  on  the  principles  that  a  well  appointed 
man  is  a  well  equipped  man;  or  it  is  used  as  in  the 
phrases:  "wrapt  in  fears,"  "attired  in  beauty,"  &c. 
But  I  maintain  that  it  means  fix,  settle,  establish, 
as  Milton  uses  it  in  Samson  Agonistes  where  Sam- 
son says  to  poor  old  Manoah:  —  "Appoint  not 
heav'nly  disposition,  father;  Nothing  of  all  these 
evils  hath  befallen  me  But  justly,"  &c. 

Such,  my  dear,  are  my  humble  innocent  pas- 
times. And  eager  as  I  am  to  press  forward  I  take 
pleasure  in  such  hindrances,  which  the  principle  of 
devoting  all  my  soul  to  the  minutest  point,  will  not 


DRUDGERY  319 

suffer  me  to  slight.  This  is  poor  stuff  to  write  to 
you,  but  of  such  poor  stuff  are  my  days  composed, 
at  least  those  spent  here  at  my  table.  .  .  . 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

Wallingford,  12  May,  1897 

Dear  Wright:  ...  I  hope  you've  had  a  pleasant 
winter,  and  that  the  heavens  have  bent  serene 
and  cloudless  over  you.  They  have  not  over  me. 
There  have  been  sorrow  and  death  in  my  family 
circle,  and  my  sister  has  been  away  in  search  of 
health.  But  I'd  like  to  have  every  one  else  have  a 
happy  time,  whatever  befalls  me.  The  mere  flight 
of  time  is  my  chiefest  blessing,  and  of  that  I  can- 
not be  deprived. 

I  have  been  working  pretty  diligently  at  "A 
Winter's  Tale,"  and  three  or  four  months  more  will 
see  it  in  the  printer's  hand.  There  are  three  or  four 
points,  about  which  I  want  to  ask  you,  in  the  Cam- 
bridge Collation  —  but  I'll  do  it  some  other  time 
—  I  don't  feel  like  looking  them  up  now.  As  I  grow 
older,  the  drudgery  of  it  all  oppresses  me,  the  print- 
ing especially,  the  damnable  iteration  after  all  the 
first  ardour  has  subsided.  Don't  be  surprised  if 
you  sometime  hear  that  I  have  abandoned  it  all, 
and  gone  off  to  Borneo,  or  Sumatra,  to  cruise  end- 
lessly in  summer  seas.  My  children  are  all  settled 
in  life  and  I  have  nothing  but  self-imposed  duties 
to  keep  me  here.  Ah,  well,  I  fancy  'tis  the  soft 
Spring  weather  that  makes  me  restless,  and  long 
for  "Das  Wandern!  das  Wandern!"   Let  a  good 


320       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

sulphurous  thunder-storm  come  up,  and  the  mood 
will  pass. 

My  work  on  the  Psalms  is  over.  I  have  been 
faithful  to  every  line,  and  have  not  neglected  a 
single  syllable.  Having  thus  devoted  to  them  the 
full  measure  of  my  limited  ability,  my  sense  of 
duty  is  complete  and  I  dismiss  them  with  "frigid 
tranquility."  If  I  am  anathematised  for  my  work 
on  them,  I'll  open  my  ears  to  the  charm  of  A  Win- 
ter's Tale  and  hear  no  other  sound.  Isaiah^  The 
Psalms,  and  Judges  are  all  electrotyped,  but  for 
business  reasons  will  not  be  issued  before  October. 
Leviticus  J  Ezekiel  and  Deuteronomy  will  speedily 
follow.  The  two  former  are  even  now  finished  and 
past  the  printer's  hand. 

Having  been  born  in  a  Quaker  city,  I  have  Im- 
bibed so  much  of  its  theological  atmosphere  as  to 
have  much  faith  in  the  promptings  of  the  spirit. 
Argal,  don't  answer  this  unless  the  spirit  moves 
you.  I  much  prefer  silence  to  a  "  must  write  "  letter. 
My  regard  for  you,  dear  Wright,  goes  much  deeper 
than  the  surface  of  a  sheet  of  paper.  And  so,  totum 
me  tibi  trado  et  commendo. 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  25  May,  '97 
Kaloo,  Kalay,  O  frabjous  day!  Three  letters  in  one 
week.   My  regular  Monday  one  came  duly,  then  a 
parenthesis,  containing  Agnes  Irwin's  letter,  then 
on  the  evening  of  the  21st,  the  weekly,  forty-eight 


SUCCESS  OF  READINGS  321 

hours  sooner  than  ordinary.  Delightful  thought! 
that  you  are  so  much  nearer.  .  .  . 

I  think  I  wrote  to  you,  but  at  the  risk  of  repeti- 
tion I  must  say  that  I  was  never  more  impressed 
than  at  that  [Cambridge]  Reading  with  the  power 
of  imagination,  and  of  the  utter  uselessness  of  stage 
scenery  or  even  of  costume.  For  look  you,  there  in 
front  of  me  sat  Charles  Eliot,  James  Thayer,  Charles 
Norton  and  Mrs.  Agassiz,  all  of  them  with  eyes  di- 
lated with  interest  and  eyes  suffused  with  emotion 
at  the  sight  of  an  old  white-haired  homely-fea- 
tured man  who  pressed  his  hands  to  his  shirt  front 
over  an  imaginary  bosom,  saying:  "Peace!  peace! 
dost  thou  not  see  my  baby  at  my  breast  that  sucks 
the  nurse  asleep."  Not  a  thought  of  the  wild  and 
ridiculous  incongruity  —  and  Charles  Norton  said 
to  me  afterwards  —  "my  dear  Furness,  you  make 
us  cry." 

Agnes's  letter  to  me  was  chiefly  taken  up  with  a 
description  of  that  same  little  arithmetician  who 
was  absorbed  in  the  Reading.  Well,  I  don't  care 
particularly  for  the  interest  of  little  boys.  I  re- 
member too  well  the  remark  of  the  fond  mother 
who  brought  her  little  son  to  our  Father's  one  eve- 
ning long  ago.  Don't  you  recall  it?  When  our  Mother 
expressed  surprise  that  he  should  keep  so  bravely 
awake,  his  mother  replied,  oh,  yes!  he  always  keeps 
awake  at  the  circus  and  such  things!  I  think  my 
Reading  days  are  over.  [I  have  no  wish  ever  to  read 
in  public  again,  except  with  you.  That,  I'll  do 
every  night  in  the  week.  Absorbed  in  the  desultory 


322       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

study  of  Shakespeare  and  saddled  with  the  Bible, 
I  think  I  have  enough  on  my  shoulders  for  my  rem- 
nant of  days.  I  say  "desultory  study"  because  I 
find  that  the  great  charm  in  editing  Shakespeare  is 
the  infinite  number  of  by-paths  into  which  I  am 
allured.  I  have  to  trot  over  the  whole  field  of  lit- 
erature ancient  and  modern.  .  .  . 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  30  May,  '97 
.  .  .  Again  there  have  been  laughter  and  merry 
talk  all  around  the  table  and  Walter,  Willie,  & 
Carrie  have  been  children  again.  They  are  now 
passing  through  a  season  of  great  fun  and  excite- 
ment, and  gabbling  the  whole  time  over  a  novel 
which  we  are  all  writing  together.  They  said  that 
if  I  would  only  write  the  first  Chapter  each  would 
follow  in  turn.  Accordingly  the  other  evening,  I 
scratched  one  oflf.  Walter  wrote  the  second,  Willie 
wrote  the  third,  and  Horace  Jayne  is  to-day  writ- 
ing the  fourth,  which  we  are  to  have  this  evening 
after  tea.  Carrie  writes  hers  tomorrow,  &  Horrie, 
on  Monday,  writes  his.  We  are  each  of  us  to  do  two 
chapters  and  then  draw  lots  who  shall  finish  it. 
And  I  have  laughed  fit  to  split  over  it.  My  plot 
(of  course  unknown  to  the  rest)  has  been  most 
horribly  distorted  &  how  I  can  ever  carry  it  out  I 
do  not  see.  Reduced  to  its  simplest  forms  it  is:  — 
a  girl  is  brought  up  in  a  family  from  her  earliest 
infancy,  as  one  of  the  children,  —  that  she  is  not, 
none  knows  but  the  father  &  mother  —  she  has 


A  COMPOSITE  NOVEL  323 

some  half  brothers  (unknown  as  such  to  her)  one 
of  whom  (the  villain  of  the  story)  falls  in  love  with 
her  &  is  about  to  carry  her  off  by  force  when  she  is 
rescued  by  her  brother  (as  she  supposes)  who  loves 
her  devotedly  —  but  always  as  a  brother  —  the 
secret  of  her  birth  is  discovered  &  the  change  from 
a  brother  into  a  lawful  lover  completes  the  story. 
I  think  the  plot  is  original  and,  though  common- 
place, capable  of  elaboration.  But  what  does  Wal- 
ter do  but  convert  the  three  step  brothers,  the 
youngest  of  whom  he  christened  Gaborieau  and 
made  hump  backed,  into  the  "  Pests  of  the  County  " 
—  and  Willie  has  introduced  a  hypochondriac  and 
laid  the  scene  partly  in  Peru,  where  one  of  the 
chief  characters  elopes  into  the  bush  with  a  half- 
breed  ;  of  course  we  each  of  us  keep  our  plots  as  dead 
secrets  from  each  other.  Horace  Jayne,  who  is  at  his 
chapter,  asked  me  at  lunch  if  I  had  any  objection 
to  his  making  the  old  grandfather  have  a  fit  on  the 
dining-room  table!  The  novel  is  called  "Grace 
Auchester"  and  I  had  intended  the  grandparents 
to  be  dear  old  people  —  but  Walter  christened 
them  "Pantile"  and  turned  them  into  horrible  old 
snuff-taking  creations,  and  his  hero  is  Gaborieau 
Pantile.  But  I'll  have  news  to  tell  you  about  it 
next  Sunday.  . .  . 

Horrie  and  Lou  spent  the  night  here,  and  they 
were  engulfed  in  the  excitement;  both  are  to  write 
chapters;  the  book  then  comes  back  to  me  —  with 
my  plot  utterly  spoiled.  Horace  Jayne  took  up  the 
Auchester    girls,   married   off   one   of    them   and 


324       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

brought  Grace  up  to  her  seventeenth  year.  Walter 
had  taken  it  on  him  to  say  that  she  was  to  receive 
her  enormous  fortune  of  2,000,000  pounds  on  her 
eighteenth  birthday,  and  it  was  to  be  paid  over  in 
gold  (evidently  his  plot  was  to  makethe  Pantile 
boys  steal  it).  Carrie  reforms  the  Pantile  boys,  sends 
the  eldest  to  India  &  makes  Morris  fall  in  love  with 
Grace,  and  greatly  softens  Gaborieau.  Horrie's 
Chapter  is  finished  and  he  is  to  come  out  tomorrow 
evening  to  read  it.  The  only  one  I  really  dread  is 
Willy.  In  my  opening  chapter  Robert  Adair  says 
to  Charles  Auchester:  "After  the  birth  of  our  last 
little  boy,  my  wife  left  me"  —  meaning  of  course 
that  she  died;  —  Willie  chose  to  interpret  it  that 
she  eloped,  which  he  had  a  right  to  do,  and  it  is  now 
uncertain  whether  or  not  Charles  Auchester's  sec- 
ond marriage  was  legal  —  His  first  wife  may  be 
still  alive,  &  Grace  be  illegitimate.  That  will  dish 
me  and  the  rest  too.  And  I  can't  help  myself.  Be- 
fore we  started  we  adopted  a  rule  that  we  should 
not  kill  beyond  hope  of  recovery  any  characters 
but  our  own.  We  can  do  with  our  own  what  we 
please,  and  so  also  we  can  treat  our  co-labourers' 
characters,  in  every  way  short  of  extermination. 
It  is  really  an  amusing  puzzle.  The  first  chapter 
for  each  one  of  us  is  comparatively  easy;  it  is 
the  second  one  that  will  tax  us,  when  our  peo- 
ple come  back  to  us  transformed  beyond  recog- 
nition. .  .  . 


W.  H.  F.,  3D,  OUTFITTING  325 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  6  June,  '97 

.  .  .  The  preparation  for  Willy's  departure  is  stead- 
ily advancing,  'tis  only  about  six  weeks  off  and  he 
is  gathering  his  outfit.  His  gun  came  home  last 
night,  and  a  few  days  ago  a  pile  of  copper  cans  for 
preserving  specimens.  The  other  evening  we  ex- 
amined a  mass  of  beads  and  gew  gaws,  hundreds  & 
hundreds  in  number,  for  barter  with  the  natives. 
His  steam  engine  for  his  launch  is  building  in  New 
York;  it  will  be  taken  piecemeal  to  Singapore  and 
there  have  the  boat  built  for  it.  And  yet  with  it  all 
I  part  from  him  with  less  reluctance  this  time  than 
I  did  with  him  before.  'Tis  so  clearly  the  life  for 
him  which  best  develops  his  character,  it  enor- 
mously enlarges  his  field  of  reading,  it  takes  on 
almost  every  branch  of  science  —  and  he  works 
away  in  reading  and  taking  notes  after  a  style  that 
I  never  knew  him  before  to  engage  in.  When  he 
does  not  go  to  town,  he  settles  down  to  his  reading 
&  writing  immediately  after  breakfast  —  a  delight- 
ful sight. 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  July  '97 

.  .  .  On  Tuesday,  Walter,  Horrie  &  Lou  came  out 
to  tea  and  stayed  over  night.  Their  main  object 
was  to  bid  Willie  good-bye;  their  next  was  to  listen 
to  the  ending  of  "Grace  Auchester  "  which  they  had 
deputed  me  to  write  —  a  sore  task.  Each  had  in 
turn  written  two  chapters  —  and   I  was  then  to 


326       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

take  up  the  mangled  plot  and  finish  it.  Not  a  ves- 
tige of  my  original  plot  remained.  Two  of  Grace's 
half  brothers  had  met  frightful  deaths  in  the  at- 
tempt to  steal  Grace's  fortune  —  and  I  had  to  clear 
their  reputations.  As  the  sister  of  burglars,  Grace 
could  not  and  would  not  link  her  name  with  that 
of  her  lover,  Archie  Auchester.  Grace's  father's 
first  wife  was  still  alive  —  therefore  Grace's  birth 
had  to  be  cleared  from  the  stain  of  illegitimacy. 
—  I  had  to  whitewash  several  characters  and  mop 
around  the  brush  generally.  'Twas  hard  work,  but 
the  children  were  pleased  and  greeted  one  or  two 
turns  with  laughter  and  I  am  content.  They  have 
begged  me  to  have  it  printed;  so  I'll  have  seven 
copies  struck  off  —  one  for  each  —  and  when  it's 
finished  I'll  send  my  copy  to  you.  I  dare  be  sworn 
no  such  a  jumble  was  ever  read  before.  The  chil- 
dren are  eager  to  begin  another  one  on  an  entirely 
different  plan  —  and  they  probably  will.  .  .  . 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  25  July,  '97 
.  .  .  Well,  dear,  this  has  been  a  monotonous  week, 
unparalleled,  I  think,  in  my  life.  The  unbroken 
weeks  which  I  have  stayed  out  here  during  the  last 
thirty  years  might  be  counted  on  the  fingers  of  one 
hand.  This  one  just  past  will  probably  light  on  the 
little  finger.  Not  only  have  I  stayed  here,  but  from 
Monday  p.m.  till  Friday  p.m.  I  spoke  to  no  one 
but  the  servants,  which,  as  the  world  goes,  was 
probably  adequate  for  all  intellectual  needs.    The 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE  327 

weather  has  been  almost  a  continuous  storm,  with 
occasional  downpours  of  rain  almost  unprece- 
dented, and  of  that  wind  that  threatened  to  strike 
flat  the  thick  rotundity  of  the  world,  and  withal 
oppressively  warm  —  a  rare  season  for  work,  and 
one  which  I  improved,  you  may  be  sure,  to  such  an 
extent,  indeed,  that  I  am  now  in  the  Fifth  Act  of 
A  Winter's  Tale  and  almost  begin  to  sniff  printer's 
ink  —  albeit  there's  an  appalling  amount  of  work 
still  ahead.  Ten  times  I  have  gone  to  press  before 
the  MS.  for  the  Appendix  was  finished,  and  ten 
times  I  have  had  the  double  work  of  preparing  it 
and  reading  proof  at  the  same  time.  This  shall  not 
be  so  now.  Every  page  of  MS.  shall  be  complete 
before  the  printer  takes  up  the  task.  I  imagined 
that  this  play  would  make  one  of  the  smallest  vol- 
umes —  so  little  attention  has  it  received,  compar- 
atively, from  Editors  —  but  from  present  indica- 
tions it  will  be  quite  as  large  as  the  Mer.  of  Ven. 
How  I  dislike  the  press  work  —  the  ardour  of  pur- 
suit is  over,  and  the  tension  of  mind  over  commas 
is  infinitely  wearisome.  But  it  feels  so  good  when 
it  has  done  aching  —  and  it  passes  the  time.  I 
sometimes  doubt  if  it  be  good  for  a  man  to  be  so  in- 
dependent of  his  critics  as  I  am.  I  know  that  at 
times  I  offend  the  rules  of  the  most  rigid  good  taste 
by  the  use  of  the  first  personal  pronoun  —  but  then 
'tis  the  way  I  prefer  to  write,  and  my  readers  must 
take  the  sour  with  the  sweet.  I  say  "my  readers" 
—  which  is  really  a  good  joke  —  though  the  books 
have  a  market  they  do  not  appear  to  have  "read- 


328        HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

ers"  —  I  am  constantly  asked  questions  which 
reveal  this  soothing  fact  —  and  it  is  soothing.  I 
write  with  freedom  knowing  that  no  human  eyes 
will  ever  read.  In  the  little  book  of  Aphorisms 
which  you  translated  so  admirably,  what  a  good 
\  one  that  is  which  says  that  we  are  not  as  often  in 
\  the  minds  of  our  friends  as  we  think  we  are.  And 
yet  I'm  quite  sure  that  I  think  of  my  friends  much 
oftener  than  they  think  of  me  —  which  arises  from 
the  misfortune  of  bearing  an  uncommon  name. 
Now  you  can't  take  up  a  newspaper  without  seeing 
the  word  "Smith,"  be  it  black  or  white  or  lock  — 
and  you  at  once  think  of  all  your  friends,  the 
"Smiths."  Whereas  'tis  only  at  the  approach  of 
winter,  when  advertising  dealers  advise  you  to  lay 
in  your  stock  of  winter  coal,  that  my  friends  are 
reminded  of  my  patronymic.  Knowing  me  as 
thoroughly  as  you  do,  you  are  the  last  person  to  im- 
agine that  my  solitude  is  irksome.  There  is  the  pan- 
acea, labour,  prescribed  for  us  in  the  Decalogue, 
which  is,  if  not  a  cure,  certainly  a  sovereign  balm 
for  pain.  And  my  cause  for  infinite  gratitude  is 
that  my  life  has  been  so  directed  that  I  can  labour 
—  although  not  profitably  to  others,  yet  distract- 
ingly  for  myself.  .  .  . 

Aldis  Wright,  who  has  finished  the  work  of  his 
life,  writes  to  me  that  he  has  now  the  luxury  of 
taking  up  a  book  on  any  subject  without  a  guilty 
feeling.  That  luxury,  it  seems,  is  never  to  be 
mine.  .  .  . 


THE  BAVARIANS  329 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  15  August,  '97 

Dearest  of  dear  sisters,  your  blessed,  bright,  de- 
lightful weekly  budget  blest  my  eyes  yesterday 
morning,  an  improvement  of  twelve  hours  over  its 
customary  predecessors;  even  one  hour  is  a  gra- 
cious boon  —  and  just  think  of  twelve  —  all  day 
long  I  was  with  you  in  the  streets  of  Nuremburg, 
"quaint  old  town  of  toil  and  traffic"  as  Longfellow 
sings  —  I  was  there  with  Willie  [W.  H.  F.  Jr.], 
mercy  on  us!  forty-two  years  ago!  And  I  suppose 
our  haunts  have  not  changed  a  cobblestone  or  a 
timber  since  then.  Here  let  me  say  at  once,  now 
that  you  are  in  Bavaria,  that  if  you  and  me  is  to 
continue  friends  you  must  like  the  Bavarians  — 
first,  like  all  Roman  Catholics,  they  are  far  more 
genial  than  ascetic  Protestants  (I  warrant  you  the 
ground  work  unthought  of  perhaps  by  you,  of  your 
preference  of  Italians  over  the  Swiss  Germans  was 
due  to  their  joyous  religion).  Well,  the  Bavarians 
and  everything  arians  are  dear,  dirty,  lying,  de- 
lightful folk,  full  of  sentiment  and  with  a  divine 
gift  of  melody.  Do  like  'em  for  my  sake  —  Some- 
times I  dream  that  a  tiny  bit  of  the  wild  freshness 
of  morning  would  revisit  me,  could  I  but  again  hear 
the  yodel  of  a  Mad'l  on  a  Bavarian  lake.  But  my 
deaf  old  ears  will  re-sing  those  songs  now  only  in 
memory.  Heigho,  this  is  a  gloomy  day  and  I  could 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  inflict  all  my  tediousness  on 
your  worship.  .  .  . 


330       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESSj 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  22nd  Aug.  '97 
Oh,  my  dear  one,  with  what  a  delightful  letter  you 
blest  me  yesterday  afternoon.  It  came  just  before 
I  went  down  to  my  solitary  dinner.  I  took  it  with 
me,  and  my  dinner  ceased  to  be  solitary;  you  chat- 
ted enchantingly  to  me  the  whole  time  —  the  act- 
ual reading  was  continually  interrupted,  but  the 
flow  of  talk  did  not  stop.  You  were  by  my  side  in 
the  old  place  all  the  time.  .  .  . 

In  order  to  identify  your  letter,  let  me  tell  you 
'tis  that  from  Nuremburg  wherein  you  enclosed 
Tom  Janvier's  (pronounced  Janveers)  verses  about 
the  unwashed  mediaeval  hands  —  as  clever  as  un- 
doubtedly true.  You  remember  that  the  extreme 
softness  (tradition  does  not  say  whiteness)  of  King 
James  the  First's  hands  was  attributed  to  the  fact 
that  he  never  washed  them,  but  merely  occasion- 
ally rubbed  them  with  the  corner  of  a  napkin.  Did 
you  never  meet  Tom.''  You  would  be  charmed  with 
him.  I  suppose  by  this  time  that  glossy,  wavy  black 
hair  is  snow-white,  but  when  I  saw  him  first  —  he 
was  as  handsome  as  they  make  'em.  I  could  think 
of  no  one  but  Steerforth  in  David  Copperfield  — 
of  course  barring  the  wickedness  —  I  stared  the 
boy  out  of  countenance.  He  afterward  went  to  New 
York  and  I  lost  sight  of  him.  I  do  hope  you'll  meet. 
How  pleasant  that  Cha's  Dana  has  proved  such 
an  accession.  I  deeply  regret  to  learn  that  he  is 
devoted  to  Heraldry,  and  Qerman  Heraldry  at 
that.   It  has  been  said,  you  know,  that  the  Book  of 


HOW  TO  SEND  CIGARS  ABROAD    331 

Revelations  either  finds  a  man  crazy  or  leaves  him 
so  —  I  add  the  study  of  Lichens  and  Heraldry. 
There  Is  no  hope  for  poor  Dana,  if  he  has  it  bad. 
Pray,  oh  pray,  beware  of  infection.  .  .  . 

To  W.  Aldis  Wright 

WalHngford,  25  August,  1897 
My  dear  Wright:  .  .  .  I've  finished  "The  Win- 
ter's Tale"  and  in  all  likelihood  before  this  reaches 
you  the  MS.  will  be  in  the  hands  of  the  Printer. 
And  I've  finished  the  Psalms  —  which  are  to  be 
published  the  1st  of  October.  What  a  fearsome 
task!  I  had  a  great  respect  for  you  before,  but  after 
I  had  finished  this  work  and  reflected  on  what  you 
had  gone  through  in  the  late  Revision,  and  on  what 
infinitely  harder  lines,  my  respect  was,  and  is,  in- 
creased ten  fold.  I  wonder  that  you  survived  — • 
you  must  have  a  caststeel  constitution. 

Haupt  is  abroad  this  summer  and  I  was  minded 
to  send  a  box  of  cigars  to  you  by  him.  He  expressed 
his  entire  willingness  to  take  them,  but  the  customs 
he  should  have  to  pay  and  the  bother  they  might 
give  him,  deterred  me.  Had  he  been  going  direct 
to  England  I  should  have  ventured,  but  he  went 
first  to  Germany.  If  a  dreadful  bore  should  ever 
ask  me  for  a  note  of  introduction  to  you,  I'll  make 
him  take  the  box  —  and  then  I  know  you  won't 
mind. 

Now  take  heed  to  what  I  say.  If  you  are  recum- 
bens  sub  tegmine  fagi,  don't  you  trouble  about 
this  note.   Borrow  a  jest  from  Hierocles  and  write 


332       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

to  say  you  never  received  It,  and  I'll  be  just  the 
same 

Yours  affectionately 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  29  August,  '97 
...  I  THINK  I  told  you  of  an  unaccountable  loath- 
ing of  work  which  has  come  over  me;  and  that  it 
must  be  exorcised  by  a  firm  determination.  It  was 
even  so.  The  very  next  day,  I  took  out  my  MS. 
and  in  spite  of  almost  physical  nausea,  addressed 
myself  to  the  hated  task  of  revision.  And  lo,  you 
now,  —  see  the  reward.  I  first  endured,  then  pit- 
ied, then  embraced.  And  what  cheered  me  on  — 
shall  I  venture  to  tell  you?  at  least  you  can't  see 
my  blushes,  —  were  the  droll  remarks  which  I  had 
interspersed  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  and  utterly 
forgotten,  the  minute  after  they  were  written.  Of 
course  fun  is  as  laughable  to  no  one  as  it  is  to  the 
maker,  but  I  must  confess  that  over  some  of  my 
notes  I  haw-hawed  long  and  loud.  My  sense  of  the 
fitness  of  things  resents  such  flippant  handling  of 
serious  subjects,  but  then  it  is  my  style,  and  after 
having  undertaken  such  an  intolerable  amount  of 
labour  for  the  public,  I  think  it  might  pardon  me  a 
little  frolic  now  and  then.  To  be  sure  much  of  my 
"fun"  is  the  fun  of  a  solitary  man,  of  one  who  does 
not  submit  it  to  the  rough  handling  of  the  world  — 
very  much  like  the  very  heavy  "fun"  in  "Sartor 
Resartus,"  such  as  the  tiresome  effort  to  convey 


A  SOLITARY  LIFE  333 

the  idea  that  the  whole  is  a  translation  by  insert- 
ing every  now  and  then  a  German  phrase.  Such 
heaviness  is  an  infallible  sign  of  a  solitary  life  —  a 
degeneration  which  I  can  clearly  see  in  myself. 
Otherwise  I  can't  say  that  I  am  aware  of  the  lapse 
which  Dr.  Johnson  says  is  a  sequent  effect;  "Sir," 
said  Dr.  Johnson,  "a  life  of  solitude  is  dangerous  to 
reason,  without  being  favourable  to  virtue;  he  who 
refuses  the  gaiety  of  society  is  likely  to  fall  a  sac- 
rifice to  appetite."  As  to  the  "appetite"  I  can't 
say  whether  or  not,  I  should  fall  under  condem- 
nation there.  My  appetite,  please  God,  is  uncom- 
mon good. .  .  . 

As  to  the  virtue  of  that  it  does  not  become  me  to 
speak,  albeit  I  shall  confess  that  my  life  is  so  idyllic 
and  pastoral  that  I  contemplate  changing  my  name 
to  Corydon  and  with  a  chaplet  of  roses  in  my  hair 
and  a  carcanet  of  daisies  round  my  neck,  piping 
on  an  oaten  straw  on  the  front  lawn  —  well,  well, 
this  solitude  will  soon  be  broken.  In  about  three 
or  four  weeks  Carrie,  her  lord  and  babe,  will  be 
here  again  and  the  house  again  astir.  But  you 
musn't  think  that  this  solitude  is  as  depressing  to 
me  as  it  would  be  if  I  were  not  deaf.  The  house  is 
no  more  noisy  when  it  is  filled  with  young  bustling 
life  than  it  is  to  me  at  all  times.  I  never  can  perceive 
any  change.  So  that  if  ever  a  man  was  adapted  to 
a  solitary  life,  it  is  I.  Furthermore,  I  take  infin- 
ite comfort  in  the  thought  that  m)^  life  inter- 
feres with  the  lives  of  none  of  our  children.  I  have 
told  our  children  so  earnestly  that  they  believe 


334       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

me  that  if  I  find  my  life  becoming  a  subject  of 
anxiety  or  thought,  or  care  on  their  part,  I  shall 
immediately  disappear,  and  the  next  news  of  me 
will  be  from  Upernavik  in  Greenland's  icy  moun- 
tains. Each  child's  life  must  be  a  centre  to  itself, 
uninfluenced  by  mine.  I  shall  never  try  to  gather 
my  children  round  me  —  as  long  as  they  are,  or  can 
be,  happy  away  from  me.  If  misery  befalls  them, 
then  my  arms  are  wide  open,  and  this  house  is  their 
refuge  —  their  home.  I  know  by  this  way,  my 
memory,  hereafter,  for  the  very  few  years  it  will 
survive,  will  blossom,  the  fairer,  in  the  dust.  Lord! 
Lord!  Nannie,  dearest  Nannie,  what  shadows  we 
are,  and  how  speedily  we  vanish  into  the  inane. 
How  this  is  driven  home  to  you  in  such  a  place  as 
Nuremburg,  or  in  any  other  old  town  whose  streets 
and  houses  have  witnessed  any  vicissitudes  of  life 
whereof  not  the  faintest  trace  remains.  'Tis  time 
to  stop  my  prosing  —  it  merely  means  that  I  have 
no  news  and  that  I  love  to  gabble  to  you  &  let  my 
pen  run  on  whithersoever  it  will,  confident  that 
whatever  I  say  will  be  taken  at  its  stupid  worth, 
and  not  be  misunderstood  —  one  of  the  high  priv- 
ileges of  complete  love.  ,  .  .^ 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  3  Oct.  '97 
Hech!  milady,  but  I'm  tired  this  blessed  Sunday. 
'Tis  the  month  when  I  have  to  grow  tired  so  that 
I  cannot  think.  —  So  it's  all  right.  My  proof-sheets 
which   I   still   loathe   keep   me  undeniably  busy. 


SHAKESPEARE'S  COMEDIES        335 

Three  galleys  a  day  are  about  enough  to  keep  me 
for  eight  hours  at  my  table  without  lifting  my  eyes. 
At  the  present  rate,  this  will  last  till  about  the  8th 
of  December.  Then  comes  the  Appendix  when  I 
can  draw  a  long  breath,  and  then  in  three  or  four 
weeks  thereafter  be  free  forever  from  the  hateful 
thing,  and  must  request  you  not  to  even  mention 
the  name  Winter  in  my  hearing.  In  enumerating 
the  Seasons,  kindly  say  Spring,  Summer,  Autumn 
and  Thingumbob.  Understand,  this  aversion  ex- 
tends only  to  my  book;  for  the  play  itself  I  have  the 
deepest  love.  It  moves  me  far  more  than  "The 
Tempest"  —  Mrs.  Kemble's  favourite.  Thus  far 
"As  You  Like  It"  has  my  warmest  admiration, 
and  I  think  next  comes  "Cymbeline"  and  then 
follows  "The  Winter's  Tale."  It  is  the  female 
characters  in  each  which  influences  my  choice  and 
range  themselves,  Rosalind,  Imogen,  Hermione. 
Of  Portia  I  think  only  in  the  Casket  scenes,  never 
at  the  trial,  where  my  sympathies  are  wholly  with 
Shylock.  It  is  intolerable  to  see  a  man  intellectually 
the  superior  of  the  whole  circle  jeered  and  tweaked 
by  such  men  as  Bassanio  and  the  sumph  Antonio. 
In  that  minute  Portia  shares  my  dislike.  But 
there  is  no  such  minute  in  the  lives  of  those  I've 
mentioned.  They  are  all  flawless.  One  night  last 
week,  I  was  utterly  drug-out  —  'Twas  one  o'clock 
and  I  knew  that  I  must  change  the  current  of 
my  thoughts  or  I  should  not  sleep  till  dawn,  but 
have  endless  visions  of  commas  and  semi-colons 
until  morning  put  a  stop  to  it  all.    So  I  took  up 


336       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

Browning  as  I  have  taken  him  up  so  often  before; 
firm  in  the  determination  to  admire  him  and  to 
yield  myself  to  his  spell.  I  read  for  an  hour,  and 
closed  the  book  never  to  open  it  again.  There  is  in 
my  veins  only  one  small  drop  of  Browning  blood 
which  responds  to  the  Toccata  of  Gallupi,  and 
there  an  end.  I  never  wish  to  spend  another  minute 
of  my  remnant  of  days  in  his  company.  His  world 
is  doubtless  a  genuine  world,  but  'tis  one  I  never 
wish  to  enter.  I  do  not  like  the  lower  passions  at 
fever  heat,  any  more  than  when  they  are  subdued 
under  a  theatrical  composure,  or  are  analysed  with 
a  pseudo-philosophy  throughout  all  their  vulgar 
filaments.  All  this  written  in  a  harsh,  discordant, 
metallic  clash  without  a  line  of  pure,  sweet,  musical 
poetry.  I  should  like  to  examine  the  bumps  of  a 
man  who  can  say  that  he  rises  from  Browning  with 
aspirations  for  a  loftier  ideal  in  life.  No,  no,  Brown- 
ing is  the  Dore  of  poets.  We  look,  we  acknow- 
ledge the  hideous  truth,  we  feel  the  power,  but  we 
shudder  and  turn  away,  and  try  to  forget  the 
horrid  revelation.  I  take  a  grim  satisfaction  in  the 
knowledge  that  I  am  done  with  Browning  for  ever. 
As  long  as  I  can  look  at  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  of 
Van  Dyck  I'm  not  going  to  waste  my  time  over  the 
repulsive  distortions  of  Dore. 

Friday  evening  came  Haupt,  having  reached 
Balto.  from  Germany  forty-eight  hours  before. 
I  was  prepared  for  his  visit  and  so  scrabbled  through 
my  proofs  in  order  to  give  the  night  to  him,  and 
we  made  a  night  of  it.   He  is  always  entertaining, 


THE  POLYCHROME  BIBLE         337 

and  was  then  eager  to  tell  all  his  summer  experi- 
ences. He  left  Saturday  morning,  went  to  New 
York  and  returned  again  Saturday  eve'g  after  his 
interview  with  Dodd  &  Mead  who  have  the  new 
translation  in  charge.  This  a.m.  before  I  was  up  he 
was  off  for  Baltimore  where  tomorrow  he  sets  the 
presses  at  work  to  print  off  the  new  Bible,  with 
the  utmost  dispatch.  'Tis  most  likely  that  about 
the  middle  of  November  I  shall  be  able  to  mail  you 
a  copy.  It  has  been  decided  to  call  it  "The  Poly- 
chrome Bible" —  to  me  an  abhorrent  title,  remind- 
ing one  of  the  "chromos"  which  are  given  at  the 
grocer's  with  a  pound  of  tea.  The  "Poly-  "  I  don't 
so  much  mind,  albeit  it  has  always  in  English  a 
comic  sound.  "The  Polyglott"  has  somewhat  fa- 
miliarised us  with  it  —  but  I  do  much  dislike  the 
"chrome."  Still  it  doesn't  make  any  difference  — 
one  gets  used  to  anything — and  "This  too  shall 
pass  away"  is  a  potent  charm  to  me  in  these  my 
advancing  years.  .  .  , 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  lO  October,  1897 

Last  evening,  dear,  when  Charles  brought  the 
mail,  my  joy  was  great  that  there  were  no  proofs, 
and  hence  a  promise  of  a  peaceful  Sabbath.  This 
morning  after  breakfast  when  I  was  just  beginning 
to  expand  over  the  prospect  of  untrammeled  hours, 
I  glanced  at  the  little  mail  box  and  there  to  my 
horror  stood  a  fatal  roll  which  I  recognized  only 
too  swiftly.  As  sometimes  happens  the  eve'g  mail 


338       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

had  gone  on  'to  Media  only  to  be  returned  this 
morning.  And  here  the  hideous  thing  lies  by  my 
side  now,  "darkening  my  prospects,  saddening  my 
brow,"  and  there  it  shall  lie  until  my  gossip  with 
you  is  over  (I  have  just  discovered  that  I  have  be- 
gun this  on  a  half-sheet,  but  you  won't  mind). 
What  wormwood  these  proofs  infuse  into  my  life. 
They  assail  me  morning,  noon,  and  night,  and  I 
am  so  sick  of  them.  But  no  matter,  they  can't  last 
forever,  and  when  they're  over  I  shall  feel  like 
saying  with  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  "Next 
Thursday,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  I  shall  be  drunk." 
I  have  two  full  months  more  of  them,  and  then, 
"Hey  day!  Freedom!  'Ban,  'Ban,  Ca-Caliban!'* 
One  thing  I  hope  I  do,  most  assuredly,  and  that  is, 
miss  catching  Tarpons  in  the  waters  of  Florida.  .  .  . 

To  his  Sister 

f  Wallingford,  24  Oct.  '97 

.' .  .  You  speak,  dear,  of  having  read  Mrs.  Jameson. 
Isn't  it  delightful,  but  a  far  finer  book  is  Lady 
Martin's  "Some  of  Shakespeare's  Female  Char- 
acters." Mrs.  Jameson  looks  at  the  characters  as 
a  highly  intelligent  sympathetic  nature  would  look 
at  them.  Lady  Martin  is  the  character  itself,  and 
interprets  to  you  its  every  emotion.  You  do  not 
look  at  Portia,  or  Rosalind,  or  Hermione,  but 
through  Lady  Martin,  Portia,  Rosalind,  and  Her- 
mione speak  to  you  themselves  and  tell  you  all 
that  passes  in  their  souls.  In  my  opinion  Lady  M.'s 
book  is  the  finest  that  has  ever  been  written  on 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA  339 

Shakespeare,  and  outweighs  tons  of  Commenta- 
ries. As  to  "Troilus  &  Cressida,"  the  first  four  Acts 
are  almost  purely  Shakespeare's,  in  the  fifth  Act 
there  are  passages  which  are  extremely  doubtful. 
Understand  I  have  never  made  a  special  study  of 
this  play  —  only  in  general  terms  I  always  main- 
tain that  it  is  uncritical  to  pick  out  all  the  fine  pas- 
sages and  give  them  to  Shakespeare  and  to  say  that 
all  the  poor  ones  were  written  by  someone  else. 
No  poet  or  writer  is  for  ever  in  the  highest  height. 
There  are  passages  of  vile  rant  and  trash  which  I 
do  not  for  a  minute  doubt  were  written  by  the  di- 
vine Williams'  own  hand  —  and  he  knew  they  were 
rant  as  well  as  any  one,  but  he  didn't  care,  neither 
do  I.  You  speak  of  Macbeth  and  few  "Ed's" 
therein.  Down  to  Lear,  I  was  still  wincing  under 
old  Josh.  Lipplncott's  sneer  that  my  proposed 
edition  would  be  mighty  good  for  the  Editor  but 
mighty  poor  for  the  publishers,  implying  that  I 
was  self-seeking  in  wishing  him  to  undertake  the 
publication.  I  can  tell  you,  'twas  hard  work  in 
editing  the  plays  to  hold  my  tongue  in  many  and 
many  a  place.  But  in  Lear  or  rather  when  Lear 
was  finished,  Kate  said  she  wanted  me  to  break 
loose  altogether  and  speak  my  mind  freely.  So 
to  her  I  owe  my  emancipation.  Of  course,  where 
the  plays  have  been  thoroughly  edited  my  chance 
for  comment  is  comparatively  rare,  but  here  in 
"  The  Winter's  Tale,''  which  has  been  but  slightly 
edited,  there  are  more  of  my  notes  than  of  any  one 
else's.    I'm  afraid  it  is  going  to   prove  the  most 


340       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

voluminous  of  any,  which  rather  appeals  to  me  — 
but  then  'tis  my  amusement,  and  Divinity  stu- 
dents have  so  few  pleasures.  Last  week  I  passed 
the  half-way  line,  so  that  if  all  goes  smoothly,  with- 
out interruption,  I  ought  to  reach  the  Appendix  by 
the  middle  of  November  —  after  that  'tis  the  easiest 
work  &  I  ought  to  write  "The  End"  in  the  middle 
of  December,  and  you  ought  to  have  a  copy  by 
the  end  of  January.  Still  there  are  always  unex- 
pected delays  —  my  only  impatience  is  that  your 
dear  eyes  may  read  it.  .  .  , 

To  Miss  M.  \E.  Jackson 

Wallingford,  31  October,  1897 

Dear  Miss  Jackson:  Never  make  any  apologies 
for  writing  to  me  on  any  Shakespearean  subject. 
I'm  frightfully  busy,  so  that  my  answers  must  be 
of  the  briefest,  yet  I'll  try  to  make  them  really 
answers. 

In  using  the  word  "mad"  I  have  a  right  to  main- 
tain that  it  shall  mean  uncompromisingly  crazy  — 
not  eccentric,  nor  odd,  but  a  downright  unsettled 
intellect.  Such  a  case  of  Madness  Shakespeare  has 
given  us  in  Opheha.  Does  Hamlet  ever  act  or  speak 
like  Ophelia.? 

A  case  of  pretended  madness  Shakespeare  has 
given  us  in  Edgar's  "Mad  Tom"  in  Lear.  Does 
Hamlet  ever  act  or  speak  like  "Mad  Tom".? 

Hamlet  may  be  beside  himself  with  grief  for  a 
time,  but  many  a  man  is  likewise  so,  whom  no  one 
would  think  of  caUing  "mad."  Of  course  Hamlet's 


HAMLET'S  MADNESS  341 

apology  to  Laertes  is  a  mere  quibble  —  not  worth 
considering.  He  never  acted  towards  Laertes  as 
he  says  he  did,  and  his  actions  at  Ophelia's  grave 
was  mere  rant  as  he  himself  calls  it  —  but  not  one 
trace  of  madness  in  it,  nor  pretended  madness. 

"Are  you  answered,^"  as  Shylock  says.  Think  of 
Ophelia  and  Mad  Tom,  and  you'll  not  accuse  Ham- 
let of  either  madness  or  pretended  madness.  "The 
Winter's  Tale"  is  going  through  the  press  and  I 
have  twelve  pages  of  proof  which  must  to  the  print- 
er's tomorrow,  and  I  must  correct  them  tonight 
before  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep. 

I  remain,  dear  Miss  Jackson 
Yours  very  truly 

Horace  Howard  Furness 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  7  November,  '97 
.  .  .  You  cannot  know  with  what  delight  I  listen, 
through  your  ears,  to  all  the  Dresden  music.  Brahms 
I  know  nothing  of  —  all  I  ever  heard  of  his  was 
what  I  heard  Mary  Codman  play  four  or  five  years 
ago,  when  he  seemed  to  me  a  man  of  intense  emo- 
tion, and  the  lord  and  master  of  instrumentation. 
But  with  nothing  on  the  surface,  and  everything 
dependent  on  the  mood  —  under  his  sway  the 
heavens  can  be  smiling  or  they  can  be  marble, 
just  as  you  feel  at  the  time.  I  think  Beethoven 
forces  you  more  into  his  mood  —  but  what  an  ass 
unpolicied  I  am  to  talk  to  you  thus.  Rejoice  with 
me  that  the  Fifth  Act  of  the  Winter's  Tale  is  at 


342       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

hand  in  the  proofs  which  really  gives  me  a  glim- 
mering on  the  horizon  —  it  will  be  half  finished  by 
the  time  you  read  this  —  then  comes  the  Appendix, 
which  gives  me  no  trouble  —  Ho,  for  Finis !  when 
you  may  imagine  me  like  the  Wandering  Jew  in 
Dore's  last  picture  of  him.  I  was  never  so  discon- 
tented, nay  disgusted,  with  any  of  my  volumes  as  I 
am  with  this  —  and  yet  I  shall  begin  another  the 
day  after  it  is  finished,  and  I  am  vacillating  be- 
tween Twelfth  Night  &  Much  Ado  with  proba- 
bilities in  favour  of  the  latter.  What  think  you  t 
Isn't  Beatrice  irresistible.^  I  saw  Weir  Mitchell  at 
the  Library  dinner.  He  was  insatiable  for  praise 
of  Hugh  Wynne,  and  I  was  insatiable  for  news  of 
you  —  so  we  licked  the  platter  clean.  .  .  . 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  14  Nov.  '97 

.  .  .  Tomorrow  I  send  the  copy  to  the  printers  of 
the  Appendix,  which  means  that  the  text  is  all  fin- 
ished —  the  Five  Acts  completed  —  and  greatly 
to  my  dissatisfaction  is  the  work  thereof.  There 
are  three  or  four  notes  of  mine  which  are  good 
enough,  but  the  rest  of  'em  are  poor  trash.  I  shall 
be  thankful  when  I  have  it  off  my  hands,  and  never 
want  to  hear  of  it  again.  No  play  has  ever  been 
such  burden  to  me  as  this.  Not  one  throb  of  inter- 
est has  it  stirred  in  me  while  going  through  the 
press.  I  sigh  when  I  open  the  proofs,  I  groan  while 
I  read  them,  and  I  smile  when  I  finish  them.  They 
seem  so  empty  and  barren  —  a  mere  waste  of  time 


SHAKESPEARE  READINGS         343 

to  labour  over  them.  But  for  what  else  is  my  time 
good  for?  I  must  do  something  with  these  long 
weary  days.  You  see  how  inconsistent  is  man  — 
Twenty-four  hours  after  "The  Winter's  Tale"  is 
finished  I  shall  begin  another  play.  Ohe,  jam  sa- 
tis! ..  . 

.  .  .  Clearly  you  and  I  ought  to  read  [Macbeth] 
together  —  the  only  objection  would  be  that  we 
should  have  no  audience.  Under  the  terror  of  your 
Lady  Macbeth,  one  half  the  audience  would  be 
needed  to  carry  out  the  fainting  other  half.  Think 
it  over,  dear,  and  make  up  your  mind  to  try  it  with 
me  some  blessed  hour  of  the  future;  I'll  read  every 
night  in  the  week,  if  you'll  read  with  me.  Just 
think  what  a  lovely  career  for  two  white  haired  old 
people.  To  enjoy  themselves  to  the  utmost  limit 
left  to  gray  hairs  and  at  the  same  time  do  good  to 
countless  charities.  There  is  a  keen  joy  in  reading 
Shakespeare  and  I  ain't  a-going  to  deny  it.  The 
mischief  is  that  you  can  never  satisfy  yourself.  The 
tones  and  expression  will  never  exactly  obey  your 
inner  sense.  What  is  so  clear  in  your  mind  falls  flat 
from  the  lips  —  a  discrepancy  which  certainly  our 
Father  never  could  have  felt  after  his  reading 
of  Paul  before  Agrippa  or  of  The  Prodigal  Son. 
Heigho,  I've  had  no  word  from  Willie  since  the  3rd 
of  November  in  a  letter  written  exactly  one  month 
before.  He  was  on  the  point  of  starting  from  Singa- 
pore into  the  wilds  of  that  island.  Then  a  long 
silence.  The  only  news  he  can  then  send  me  must 
be  carried  by  a  foot  messenger,  eighty  miles.    'Tis 


344       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS      ' 

good  that  these  anxieties  come  only  in  the  decline 
of  life  when  the  foot  of  the  hill  is  not  far  off.  .  .  . 

I  speak  of  this  my  "Arctic  winter,"  but  'twill  be 
no  such  thing.  I  doubt  that  I  shall  dine  three  con- 
secutive days  alone.  The  country  so  near  to  the 
city,  as  this  place  is,  cannot  be  isolated.  Indeed, 
on  some  accounts,  'tis  not  isolated  enough.  Carl 
Schurz  moved  to  the  country  for  quiet  seclusion. 
He  tried  it  for  five  years.  When  his  friends  called 
on  him,  instead  of  staying  only  a  half-hour  or  so, 
as  they  would  have  done  in  the  city,  they  were 
obliged,  owing  to  the  trains,  to  remain  one  or  two 
hours,  and  claimed  his  undivided  attention  — 
Whereupon  to  obtain  real  seclusion  he  moved  back 
to  town.  'Tis  very  much  the  same  case  here.  .  .  . 
Did  ever  circumstances  tak'  the  words  o'  the  Lord 
more  completely  out  o'  the  preacher's  mouth."*  As 
I  wrote  that  last  word,  I  looked  up  and  Frank  stood 
by  my  table.  He  stayed  for  more  than  an  hour  — 
When  I  opened  the  front  door  to  let  him  out,  there 
stood  Atherton  Blight  to  pass  the  day  with  me.  .  .  . 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  21  November,  '97 
.  .  .  On  Tuesday  Dr.  Dan  Brinton  dined  with  me  — 
a  pleasant  relief  while  still  in  the  shadow  of  no 
letter  from  you.  He's  a  man  I  greatly  admire  for 
the  breadth  of  his  horizon.  To  be  sure,  he  some- 
times extends  it  in  uncouth,  spasmodic  direction, 
as  when  he  lately  attempted  a  drama  in  blank 
(very  blank)  verse.   The  plot  was  extremely  good, 


WHITMAN  AND  EXPURGATION    345 

taken  from  an  episode  in  the  early  brutal  colo- 
nization of  Mexico  by  the  Spaniards,  but  then  my 
friend  is  not  a  good  poet  and  has  no  idea  of  the 
difficulty  of  blank  verse  —  almost  the  very,  very 
hardest  of  metres,  as  Tennyson  said.  Brinton  has 
been  urged  to  edit  Walt  Whitman's  works,  and 
wanted  to  consult  me  thereanent.  I  clearly  stated 
to  him  what  I  thought  to  be  the  inevitable  horns  of 
the  dilemma;  if  unexpurgated,  the  works  would 
sell  &  the  editor  blamed;  if  expurgated,  the  works 
would  not  sell  &  the  editor  be  praised.  No  man 
with  self-respect,  or  with  children,  could  edit  those 
so-called  poems  unexpurgated.  Whatever  excuse 
Walt  might  plead  for  writing  them,  would  not 
be  extended  to  his  editor.  I  am  convinced  that 
had  the  first  English  Edition  of  "Leaves  of  Grass" 
been  unexpurgated,  it  would  never  have  there 
gained  the  popularity  which  it  undoubtedly  had 
and  still  has.  I  pleaded  this  fact  to  Walt  once,  and 
spoke  to  him  plainly  enough  about  his  shocking 
impropriety  —  But  he  was  as  deaf  as  an  adder  to 
my  conjurations.  He  said,  "No,  Horace,  Emer- 
son walked  with  me  under  the  elms  on  Boston 
Common  for  two  hours  talking  as  you  do;  but  to 
take  out  those  passages  would  break  the  ensem- 
ble of  my  nature."  Damn  the  ensemble  was  what 
I  wanted  to  say,  but  didn't.  The  truth  is  that  Walt 
was  a  poseur  all  his  life.  He  pretended  to  be  poor 
as  a  rat  when  he  had  thousands  of  dollars  in  the 
Bank.  He  pretended  to  be  uncultured  and  illit- 
erate when  in  reality  he  was  an  extremely  well-read 


346       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

man.  He  pretended  to  write  his  poems  just  as  they 
sprang  from  his  lips,  when  in  reality  he  laboured 
over  them  with  unwearied  industry,  as  is  proved  by 
some  of  his  MS.  which  I  have,  wherein  there  are 
erasures  after  erasures,  and  spaces  left  vacant  for 
the  subsequent  insertions  of  the  appropriate  ad- 
jective. No,  the  very  best  thing  about  Walt  was 
his  godlike  face  and  mien,  and  this  will  die  with  the 
generation  which  was  blest  with  the  sight.  I  once 
went  up  to  him  when  I  saw  him  on  Chestnut 
Street,  and  said  that  I  must  personally  thank  him 
for  being  so  handsome,  adding  that  I  hoped  he 
didn't  mind.  "No,  Horace,"  he  added,  "I  Hke  it," 
which  was  certainly  delightfully  honest.  But  ach 
weh!  lass  riihn  die  Todten  (his  brain  is  in  alcohol 
in  the  Wistar  Institute  for  future  microscopic  ex- 
amination). .  .  . 

Probably  by  the  time  you  receive  this,  my  labours 
in  "The  Winter's  Tale"  will  have  entirely  ceased, 
and  the  last  proof-sheet  read.  I  am  now  in  the  Ap- 
pendix, passed  the  three  bugbears;  The  Text,  The 
Date,  and  The  Plot,  and  all  is  now  smooth  sailing. 
I  am  making  out  the  Hst  of  books,  and  the  Index, 
which  cannot  be  done  till  the  whole  is  in  type 
and  paged.  What  a  relief!  and  what  a  mortifica- 
tion !  There  are  but  two  notes  of  my  own  in  the 
whole  play  which  I  contemplate  with  any  approach 
to  satisfaction  —  Every  other  one  is  vapid,  silly, 
&  pretentious.  But  when  a  volume  is  once  finished 
and  published,  I  dismiss  it  with  frigid  tranquility, 
having  nothing  to  hope  or  fear  from  censure  or 
from  praise. 


:A  HOSPITAL  .347 

To  his  Sister 

Walling  ford,  19  December,  *97 
.  .  .  I've  had  a  wild  and  whirling  week.  Listen.  On 
Monday  came  your  delicious  balm.  On  Wednesday 
P.M.  I  gave  my  weekly  inspection  of  the  Univ.  Hos- 
pital and  as  I  am  the  only  member  of  the  Com. 
of  three,  who  attends  to  this  duty,  it  falls  to  me  to 
examine  the  accounts,  and  add  up  long  columns 
of  figures,  approve  with  my  signature  sixty  or 
seventy  bills  ranging  in  am't  from  twenty-five  cents 
to  six  hundred  dollars,  count  all  the  cash  in  hand 
(and  it  must  come  out  to  a  penny),  then  go  through 
every  part  of  the  hospital,  peer  into  linen  closets, 
cupboards,  refrigerators,  walk  through  the  huge 
kitchen,  sniff  into  ice-boxes,  and  look  grimly  at 
every  speck  of  dirt.  The  Hospital  is  really  fast 
becoming  a  model.  The  antiseptic  doctrine  has 
changed  every  table  from  wood  to  glass,  and  floors 
and  walls  of  the  bath-rooms  &c,  to  snowy  tiles. 
(The  new  grand  "D.  Hayes  Agnew  Pavillion'* 
(Phoebus,  what  a  name!)  is  an  utter  failure  as  far 
as  heat,  light  and  ventilation  is  concerned.)  As  I 
go  every  Wednesday  afternoon,  and  as  dusk  comes 
on  before  I  can  walk  through  the  wards,  the  half 
light  of  the  approaching  night  starts  a  depression 
which  all  the  snowy  sheets  and  white-clad  nurses 
cannot  dispel.  The  Women's  Surgical  Ward  is 
what  gives  me  deepest  pain.  The  pale,  weak,  pa- 
tient faces  looking  pleadingly  at  me  above  the  coun- 
terpanes haunt  me  for  hours  afterwards.  But  of  all 
things  in  a  Hospital  you  must  crush  down  all  emo- 


348       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

tion.  And  there  is  endless  cheer  in  the  thought  of 
the  contrast  between  all  this  sweetness  and  vigilant 
care,  and  all  the  squalor  and  neglect  in  the  homes 
whence  the  patients  come.  I  always  end  with  the 
Children's  Ward,  where  in  some  beds  there  are 
always  sure  to  be  found  some  convalescent  little 
things  playing  with  toys  and  responsive  to  a  smile. 
Then  home  to  my  solitary  dinner. 

On  Thursday  I  went  to  the  Book  Com.  of  the 
Phila.  Lib.  which  is  even  more  depressing  than  the 
Hospital.  It  has  no  cheering  side,  which  is  all  I'll 
say  about  It.  One  thing  however  is  somewhat  good. 
We  are  bursting  with  money  to  buy  books,  (there 
are  several  thousand  dollars  lying  idle)  but  nothing 
will  they  buy  but  the  current  novels  &  light  lit- 
erature of  the  day.  The  good  thing  is  that  I  got 
them  to  let  me  have  four  hundred  dollars  to  make 
a  complete  collection  of  Milton;  and  three  hundred 
dollars  for  tracts  relating  to  the  early  history  of  the 
Quakers.  I  shouldn't  have  asked  for  this,  had  it 
not  been  that  I  was  so  successful  with  the  thousand 
dollars  they  gave  me  for  Bibles  and  Prayer  Books. 
On  Friday,  I  worked  hard  all  the  morning,  and  at 
three  o'clock  I  thought  I'd  take  a  little  stroll  and 
examine  the  greenhouse.  While  I  was  there,  Mar- 
gery came  bearing  in  her  hand  a  card:  Agnes 
Repplier!  I  bounded  like  a  shammy  back  to  the 
house  to  welcome  the  dear  child.  .  ,  . 

"The  Winter's  Tale"  has  reached  the  very  tip, 
and  there's  very  little  wagging  left  in  it.  There 
is  but  one  more  galley  of  the  Index  to  read  &  then 


TRAGI-COMEDIES  349 

all's  done,  and  good  riddance.  You  say  most 
truly  that  Hero's  little  fuss  in  Much  Ado  doesn't 
affect  the  general  gaiety.  Don't  you  know  the 
reason  why.''  'Tis  because  we  know  all  along, 
having  been  let  into  the  secret,  that  she  is  living  — 
This  makes  it  a  genuine  comedy.  "The  Winter's 
Tale"  on  the  other  hand  is  strictly  a  tragi-comedy. 
Until  Paulina  draws  the  curtain  we  do  not  know 
that  Hermione  is  alive  —  and  excellent  illustra- 
tion of  a  tragi-comedy  which  I  have  been  so  often 
asked  to  define.  I  think  it's  the  best  in  Shakespeare 
—  better  than  Cymbeline.  And  now,  dear  one, 
Christmas  will  be  over  when  you  read  this  and 
'twill  be  the  last  letter  you  get  from  me  this  year  — ■ 
a  year  in  which  you  have  become  dearer  and  dearer 
to  me  than  when  it  began.  Therein  following  the 
example  of  all  its  predecessors.  ... 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  26  Dec.  '97 
'Tis  good  that  out  of  doors  Christmas  exists  only 
in  cities.  The  instant  I  was  seated  here  Christmas 
had  become  a  memory.  I  bustled  about  fixing 
things.  I  am  determined  to  enter  a  new  year  —  if 
at  all  —  in  a  fixeder  state  than  ever  before.  Con- 
flagrations of  idols  in  the  shape  of  old  rubbish  &c., 
cherished  for  years,  is  the  order  of  the  day  and  of 
the  night.  I  am  weeding  out  books  and  shall  send 
two  or  three  hundred  to  auction.  How  can  I  pos- 
sibly feel  the  love  of  books  into  which  I  don't  look 
once  in  twenty  years.''  —  and  expressly  those  into 


350       HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

which  I  trust  I  shall  never  look  again.  I  will  eman- 
cipate myself  from  magpiety  (a  good  word,  this 
instant  coined).  It  has  been  my  besetting  sin  from 
childhood.  Why,  I  have  now  old  pieces  of  blank 
paper  which  I  saved  before  I  went  to  College  — 
they  are  at  least  a  half  a  century  in  my  possession. 
The  deuce  of  it  is  that  this  rubbish  at  last  derives 
a  fictitious  value  for  the  mere  respectability  of  age. 
I  am  not  sure  that  I  ought  not  to  reckon  among  my 
Christmas  presents  an  edition  de  luxe  (an  edition 
of  looks  as  Lowell  called  'em)  of  "Hugh  Wynne," 
from  our  dear  Weir.  I  detest  such  editions  from 
the  bottom  of  my  soul  —  but  as  coming  from  Weir, 
and  one  of  only  sixty  copies,  it  gratified  me  ex- 
tremely. Of  course  he'll  reserve  No.  i  for  you, 
who,  as  he  said  to  me,  always  write  half  his  stories. 
I  replied  that  you  wrote  all  my  work,  which  you  do. 
Now  that  Father  is  gone  are  you  not  my  living 
inspiration.''  And  let  me  tell  you,  you  won't  be 
much  inspired  when  you  get  "The  Winter's  Tale," 

—  that  wretched  failure  to  which  I  was  scourged 
as  never  galley  slave  to  his  oar.  When  I  read  the 
Preface  (the  last  proof  of  it,  I  received  yesterday 
morning)  and  some  of  the  notes,  I  shriek:  "Oh, 
Ma'am,  my  stom,  my  stom."   But  whock  your  eye 

—  it's  dead  and  done  for,  as  far  as  my  interest  in  it 
is  concerned.  I  shall  never  cut  the  leaves  of  my 
copy  of  it,  as  I  have  not  yet  cut  the  leaves  of 
"A  Mid.  N.  Dream."  And  furthermore  I  shall  be- 
gin another  play  ("Much  Ado")  before  the  week  is 
out.   Again  yesterday  morning  I  received  a  bound 


A  CALL  FROM  WILLARD  351 

copy  of  "The  Psalms  ";  as  soon  as  they  are  for  sale 
(they  have  to  be  held  up  a  while  for  the  sake  of  the 
English  copyright)  of  course  you  shall  have  one  — 
but  don't  lug  either  it,  or  your  copy  of  "  The  Winter's 
Tale,"  about  with  you  when  you  leave  Dresden; 
give  'em  away.  Indeed  I'm  not  ashamed  of  some 
of  the  "Psalms"  — 

To  his  Sister 

Wallingford,  2  Jan.  '98 

.  .  .  Thursday  p.m.  Willard,  the  actor,  came  out 
to  see  me  under  Horrie's  guidance,  and  we  had  a 
very  pleasant  time  —  I  told  him  he  was  made  to 
act  Benedict;  he  bounded  at  my  words  &  said  he 
had  already  been  looking  into  the  part.  I  told  him 
to  come  to  me  again  in  a  year,  and  I'd  go  over  the 
whole  play  with  him.  By  that  time,  possibly,  if 
I'm  alive  and  nothing  happens  (as  Mother  used 
to  say),  I  should  have  finished  it.  Yes,  I've  half 
a  mind  to  exert  a  tour  de  force  and  issue  another 
play  in  a  year.  I  can  do  it,  if  age  doesn't  claw  me 
too  tightly  in  its  clutch.  Now  that  I  have  touched 
1898,  'tis  likely  that  I  shall  live  to  be  a  hundred, 
and  in  the  meantime  I'd  like  to  finish  the  comedies. 
These  and  the  five  great  tragedies  would  make  a 
kind  of  complete  thing.  Don't  laugh  —  the  very 
afternoon  of  the  day  I  sent  back  my  last  proofs  of 
The  Wint.  Tale  I  began  Much  Ado.  To  be  sure, 
this  beginning  amounts  to  no  more  than  number- 
ing lines  —  but  that  I  have  done.  Would  it  were 
true  that  "dimidium  facti,  qui  ccepit  habet."^ 

END  OF  VOLUME  I 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  LOS  ANGELES 

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